pon the
reports of others. Her sense of failure, toward the Community in
general, and toward Seraphine in particular, lent her a fresh stock of
patience.

She raised the weeping nun from the floor, put her arm around her, with
protective gesture, and led her before the Shrine of the Madonna.

"My child," she said, "there are things we are called upon to suffer
which we can best tell to our blessed Lady, herself. Try to unburden
your heart and find comfort . . . Does your mind hark back to the
thought of the earthly love you resigned in order to give yourself
solely to the heavenly? . . . Are you troubled by fears lest you
wronged the man you loved, when, leaving him, you became the bride of
Heaven?"

Sister Seraphine smiled--a scornful little smile. "Nay," she said, "I
was weary of Wilfred. But--there were others."

The voice of the Prioress grew even graver, and more sad.

"Is it then the Fact of marriage which you desired and regret?"

Sister Seraphine laughed--a hard, self-conscious, little laugh.

"Nay, I could not have brooked to be bound to any man. But I liked to
be loved, and I liked to be First in the thought and heart of another."

The Prioress looked at the pretty, tear-stained face, at the softly
moulded form. Then an idea came to her. To voice it, lifted the veil
from the very Holy of Holies of her own heart's sufferings; but she
would not shrink from aught which could help this soul she was striving
to uplift.

With her eyes resting upon the Babe in the arms of the Virgin Mother,
she asked, gravely and low:

"Is it the ceaseless longing to have had a little child of your own to
hold in your arms, to gather to your breast, to put to sleep upon your
knees, which keeps your heart turning restlessly back to the world?"

Sister Seraphine gazed at the Prioress, in utter amazement.

"Nay, then, indeed!" she replied, impatiently. "Always have I hated
children. To escape from the vexations of motherhood were reason
enough for leaving the world."

Then the Prioress withdrew her protective arm, and looked sternly upon
Sister Seraphine.

"You are playing false to your vows," she said; "you are slighting your
vocation; yet no worthy or noble feeling draws your heart back to the
world. You do but desire vain pomp and show; all those things which
minister to the enthronement of self. Return to your cell and spend
three hours in prayer and penitence before the crucifix."

The Prioress lifte