fe that was, before, choosing the better part, we
left the world, come back to haunt us, with a wanton sweetness. Such
memories cannot change the state, fixed forever by our vows; but they
may awaken in us vain regrets or worldly longings. Therein lies their
sinfulness.

"To help you against this danger, I will now give you two prayers,
which you must commit to memory, and repeat whenever need arises. The
first is from the Breviary."

The Prioress drew toward her a black book with silver clasps, opened
it, and read therefrom a short prayer in Latin. But seeing no light of
response or of intelligence upon the face of Sister Seraphine, she
slowly repeated a translation.

_Almighty and Everlasting God, grant that our wills be ever meekly
subject to Thy will, and our hearts be ever honestly ready to serve
Thee. Amen._

Her eyes rested, with a wistful smile, upon the book.

"This prayer might suffice," she said, "if our hearts were truly
honest, if our wills were ever yielded. But, alas, our hearts are
deceitful above all things, and our wills are apt to turn traitor to
our good intentions.

"Therefore I have found for you, in the Gregorian Sacramentary, another
prayer--less well-known, yet much more ancient, written over six
hundred years ago. It deals effectually with the deceitful heart, the
insidious, tempting thoughts, and the unstable will. Here is a
translation which I have myself inscribed upon the margin."

The Prioress laid her folded hands upon the missal and as she repeated
the ancient sixth-century prayer, in all its depth of inspired
simplicity, her voice thrilled with deep emotion, for she was giving to
another that which had meant infinitely much to her own inner life.

_Almighty God, unto Whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and
from Whom no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the
inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love Thee, and
worthily magnify Thy Holy Name, through Christ our Lord. Amen._

The Prioress turned her face from Sister Seraphine's unresponsive
countenance and fixed her eyes once more upon the tree-tops. She was
thinking of the long years of secret conflict, known only to Him from
Whom no secrets are hid; of the constant cleansing of her thoughts, for
which she had so earnestly pleaded; of the fear lest she should never
worthily magnify that Holy Name.

Presently--her heart filled with humble tenderness--she turned to
S