cast of
feature. Her face was a fine, earnest one. Her movements were full of
energy and decision, though not quick or sharp. The whole impression
left was that of one by nature far from humility, tenderness, devotion;
but, by the force of a magnificent faith, made passionately humble,
devout from the very heart, more than humanly compassionate and tender.

I never felt toward her as if she were "born so"--but as if she were
rescued from the world by some great effort or experience; as if it were
all "made ground," reclaimed from nature by infinite patience and
incessant labor. She lived the life of an angel upon the earth. I never
saw her, by look, by word, or tone, transgress the least of the
commandments, so wonderful was the curb she held over all her human
feelings. Nor was this perfection attained by a sudden and grand
sacrifice; the consecration of herself to the religious life was not the
"single step 'twixt earth and heaven," but it was attained by daily and
hourly study--by the practice of a hundred self-denials--by the most
accurate science of spiritual progress.

Doubtless, saints can be made in other ways, but this is one way they
can be made, starting with a sincere intention to serve God. At least,
so I believe, from knowing Sister Madeline.

She made a great change in my life, and I owe her a great deal. It is
not strange I feel enthusiasm for her. I cannot bear to think what my
coming back to life would have been without her.

Of the alarming nature of my illness, I only know that there were
several days when Richard never left the house, but waited, hour after
hour, in the library below, for the news of my condition, and when even
Uncle Leonard came home in the middle of the day, and walked about the
house, silent and unapproachable.

One night--how well I remember it! I had been convalescent, I do not
know how long; I had passed the childish state of interest in my
_bouilli_, and fretfulness about my _peignoir_; my mind had begun to
regain its ordinary power, and with the first efforts of memory and
thought had come fearful depression and despondency. I was so weak,
physically, that I could not fight against this in the least. Sister
Madeline came to my bedside, and found me in an agony of weeping. It was
not an easy matter to gain my confidence, for I thought she knew nothing
of me, and I was not equal to the mental effort of explaining myself;
she was only associated with my illness. But at la