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Updated: June 27, 2025
"St. Teresa's Orphanage, a home for children with bad parents who neglect or ill treat them." That was their case exactly, baby's and his. To St. Teresa's, then, they must go in search of a home. He was quite sure he could find it again. It was ever so far away, over on the other side of the city, but he remembered the way perfectly, and would have no difficulty in reaching the orphanage.
So Juanita took the veil at last in order to return to Marcos. Sor Teresa's words proved true enough at the city gates where the sentinels recognised her and allowed her carriage to pass across the drawbridge by a careless nod of acquiescence to the driver. It was a clear dark night without a moon.
She ran back in her mind over a hundred incidents of school life, remembered, as such are, with photographic accuracy. "Well," she admitted at length. "You did your best to make me hate it at all events." "Ah!" said Sor Teresa, with a slow smile. "Then you did not want me to go into religion " Juanita came a step nearer and peered into Sor Teresa's face.
That night on our return we poured into Teresa's sympathetic ears all that had occurred during our eventful visit that afternoon at Celestina's house. Then somewhat later as I was helping her with the dishes in the kitchen, Teresa said, "Do you know, Lisita, it wouldn't surprise me in the least to see the Breton converted and changed by God's power into a decent, respectable man.
"Perhaps you are even handsomer than you were four years ago, although I see you have called in the aid of foreign ornament-it was the wisest course, however." The rich color which suddenly dyed Teresa's cheeks, most certainly was not the gift of art, yet she assented to Villani's words.
A sudden recollection of Teresa's uncontrollable terror that first night smote him with remorse and redoubled his efforts. Alone in the track of these frantic and bewildered beasts, to what madness might she not be driven! The sharp crack of a rifle from the high road turned his course momentarily in that direction.
I ventured to put some questions, relating to Teresa's life in Italy and to the persons with whom she associated. Do you remember telling me, when I asked what you knew of her husband, that he was foreman in a manufactory of artists' colours? and that you had your information from Miss Carmina herself, after she had shown you the telegram announcing his death?
In Teresa's writings prayer holds much the same place that it holds in the best men and women of Holy Scripture. If I were to say that about some of the ladies of the Scottish Covenant, you would easily believe me. But you must believe me when I tell you that about a Spanish lady, second to none of them in holiness of life, even if her holy life is not all cast in our mould.
The Foundations is a Christian classic even in Woodhead's and Dalton's and David Lewis's English, what must it then be to those to whom Teresa's exquisite Spanish is their mother-tongue!
This long effort brings, as its reward a unification of character, an inflow of power: from it we see the mature man or woman of the Spirit emerge. In St. Catherine of Genoa this conflict lasted for four years, after which the thought of sin ceased to rule her consciousness. St. Teresa's intermittent struggles are said to have continued for thirty years.
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