which was as a spiritual instrument in the instant recognition of whatever was holy, that it might be honoured even in a grain of sand—­the charitable industrious hand, which had so often fed the hungry and clothed the naked—­this hand was now cold and lifeless.  A great favour had been withdrawn from earth, God had taken from us the hand of his spouse, who had rendered testimony to, prayed, and suffered for the truth.  It appeared as though it had not been without meaning, that she had resignedly laid down upon her bed the hand which was the outward expression of a particular privilege granted by Divine grace.  Fearful of having the strong impression made upon me by the sight of her countenance diminished by the necessary but disturbing preparations which were being made around her bed, I thoughtfully left her room.  If, I said to myself—­if, like so many holy solitaries, she had died alone in a grave prepared by her own hands, her friends—­the birds—­would have covered her with flowers and leaves; if, like other religious, she had died among virgins consecrated to God, and that their tender care and respectful veneration had followed her to the grave, as was the case, for example, with St. Colomba of Rieti, it would have been edifying and pleasing to those who loved her; but doubtless such honours rendered to her lifeless remains would not have been conformable to her love for Jesus, whom she so much desired to resemble in death as in life.’

The same friend later wrote as follows:  ’Unfortunately there was no official post-mortem examination of her body, and none of those inquiries by which she had been so tormented during life were instituted after her death.  The friends who surrounded her neglected to examine her body, probably for fear of coming upon some striking phenomenon, the discovery of which might have caused much annoyance in various ways.  On Wednesday the 11th of February her body was prepared for burial.  A pious female, who would not give up to anyone the task of rendering her this last mark of affection, described to me as follows the condition in which she found her:  “Her feet were crossed like the feet of a crucifix.  The places of the stigmas were more red than usual.  When we raised her head blood flowed from her nose and mouth.  All her limbs remained flexible and with none of the stiffness of death even till the coffin was closed.”  On Friday the 13th of February she was taken to the grave, followed by the entire population of the place.  She reposes in the cemetery, to the left of the cross, on the side nearest the hedge.  In the grave in front of hers there rests a good old peasant of Welde, and in the grave behind a poor but virtuous female from Dernekamp.

On the evening of the day when she was buried, a rich man went, not to Pilate, but to the cure of the place.  He asked for the body of Anne Catherine, not to place it in a new sepulchre, but to buy it at a high price for a Dutch doctor.  The proposal was rejected as it deserved, but it appears that the report was spread in the little town that the body had been taken away, and it is said that the people went in great numbers to the cemetery to ascertain whether the grave had been robbed.’