Her face, calm
and purposeful, was lifted to the sunlight. Suffering and sorrow had
left thereon indelible marks; but the clear grey eyes, beneath level
brows, were luminous with a light betokening the victory of a pure and
noble spirit over passionate and most human flesh.
No sinner, in her presence, ever felt crushed by hopeless weight of
sin; no saint, before the gaze of her calm eyes, felt sure of being
altogether faultless.
So truly was she woman, that all humanity seemed lifted to her level;
so completely was she saint, that sin did slink away abashed before her
coming.
They who feared her most, were most conscious of her kindness. They
who loved her best, were least able to venture near.
In the first bloom of her womanhood she had left the world, resigning
high rank, fair lands, and the wealth which makes for power. Her faith
in human love having been rudely shattered, she had sought security in
Divine compassion, and consolation in the daily contemplation of the
Man of Sorrows. In her cell, on a rough wooden cross, hung a life-size
figure of the dying Saviour.
She had not reached her twenty-fifth year when, fleeing from the world,
she joined the Order of the White Ladies of Worcester, and passed into
the seclusion and outward calm of the Nunnery at Whytstone.
Five years later, on the death of the aged Prioress, she was elected,
by a large majority, to fill the vacant place.
She had now, during two years, ruled the Nunnery wisely and well.
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