She returned home to her parents for yet a while. She had a large open wound in her chest which had to be treated every day, but she bore this without complaint and without the least sign of irritation. What distressed her most were the frequent visits and questionings of the part of many people who wanted to see her, and whom she could no longer avoid by running off to hide.
“I am offering this sacrifice too, for the conversion of sinners,” she said resignedly. “I would give anything to be able to go up to the Cabeco and say a Rosary there in our favorite place! But I’m not able for it anymore. When you go up to the Cova da Iria, pray for me. Just think, I shall never go there again!” The tears streamed down her cheeks.
One day my aunt made this request: “Ask Jacinta what she is thinking, when she covers her face with her hands and remains motionless for such a long while. I’ve already asked her, but she just smiles and doesn’t answer.”
I put the question to Jacinta. “I think of Our Lord,” she replied, “of Our Lady, of sinners, and of (and she mentioned parts of the secret). I love to think.”
My aunt asked my how she answered. I just smiled.
This led my aunt to tell my mother what had happened.
“The life of these children is an enigma to me,” she exclaimed, “I can’t understand it!”
My mother added: “Yes, and when they are alone, they talk nineteen to the dozen. Yet, however hard you listen, you can never catch a single word! I just can’t understand all this mystery.”