ister Seraphine.

"These prayers, my child, which you will commit to memory before you
sleep this night, will protect you from a too insistent recollection of
the world you have resigned; and will assist you, with real inward
thoroughness, to die daily to self, in order that the Holy Name of our
dear Lord may be more worthily magnified in you."

But, alas! this gentle treatment, these long silences, this quiet
recitation of holy prayers, had but stirred the naughty spirit in
Sister Seraphine.

Her shallow nature failed to understand the deeps of the noble heart,
dealing thus tenderly with her. She measured its ocean-wide greatness,
by the little artificial runnels of her own morbid emotions. She
mistook gentleness for weakness; calm self-control, for lack of
strength of will. Her wholesome awe of the Prioress was forgotten.

"But I do not want to die!" she exclaimed. "I want to live--to
live--to live!"

The Prioress looked up, astonished.

The surface humility had departed from the swollen countenance of
Sister Seraphine. The petulant defiance was plainly visible.

"Kneel!" commanded the Prioress, with authority.

The wayward nun jerked down upon her knees, upsetting the stool behind
her.

The Prioress made a quick movement, then restrained herself. She had
prayed for patience in dealing with wilfulness.

"We die that we may live," she said, solemnly. "Sister Seraphine, this
is the lesson your wayward heart must learn. Dying to self, we live
unto God. Dying to sin, we live unto righteousness. Dying to the
world, we find the Life Eternal."

On her knees upon the floor, Sister Seraphine felt her position to be
such as lent itself to pathos.

"But I want to _live_ to the world!" she cried, and burst into tears.

Now Convent life does not tend to further individual grief. Constant
devout contemplation of the Supreme Sorrow which wrought the world's
salvation lessens the inclination to shed tears of self-pity.

The Prioress was startled and alarmed by the pathetic sobs of Sister
Seraphine.

This young nun had but lately been sent on to the Nunnery at Whytstone
from a convent at Tewkesbury in which she had served her novitiate, and
taken her final vows. The Prioress now realised how little she knew of
the inner working of the mind of Sister Seraphine, and blamed herself
for having looked upon the outward appearance rather than upon the
heart, taken too much for granted, and relied too entirely u