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LUCIFER.

In this way passed the next two years of my childhood. There was no respite; regardless of my age, an ever increasing responsibility. It was I who now knew one trunk from another and could soon insert their different key successfully. Piles of linen and dresses, hats and shoes, came under my care. The maid was always there but her role had become passive.

To make matters worse and for no apparent reason, my mother's animosity became virulent. In her bad moods she would approach me and hiss: "I will break your spirit". That she broke neither my spirits nor my back is a miracle worth recording. The religious minded might attribute this escape to the protective qualities of the spiritual armour with which St. Catherine's had invested me. This had taken the form of a tardy baptism and a premature confirmation. The first had been purposely neglected by my unbelieving mother; the second -- although I had not reached the required age -- hastily performed before my departure.

At first I thought my armour invincible, and though looking the spirit of the early Christians, I was sufficiently enthusiastic to proclaim the supremacy of so comfortable a Deity. But once in the presence of my mother and her God, Lucifer, it seemed to me that my golden armour melted away like a covering of snow.

I say Lucifer because I knew that my mother worshiped the fallen angel. Had I not seen his swarthy, winged form diving to unknown depths on the covers of reviews which periodically received and which bore his name? It was evident that my God refused to remain in such uncongenial company. This desertion however, in no way affected pleasant memories of St. Catherine's. My life there ever remained to me the one bright spot in the course of my troubled childhood.