She was wondering whether she could have acted with
better judgment, spoken more wisely. Her heart was sore. Such noble
natures ever blame themselves for the wrong-doing of the worthless.
Receiving no reply, Mother Sub-Prioress whispered a suggestion.
"No," said the Prioress.
Mother Sub-Prioress modified her suggestion.
The Prioress turned and looked at the tender figure of the Madonna,
brooding over the blessed Babe.
"No," said the Prioress.
Mother Sub-Prioress frowned, and made a further modification; but in
tones which suggested finality.
The Prioress inclined her head.
The Sub-Prioress, bowing low, lifted the hem of the Reverend Mother's
veil, and kissed it; then passed from the room.
The Prioress moved to the window.
The sunset was over. The evening star shone, like a newly-lighted
lamp, in a pale purple sky. The fleet-winged swallows had gone to rest.
Bats flitted past the casement, like homeless souls who know not where
to go.
Low chanting began in the cells; the nuns, with open doors, singing
_Miserere_.
But, as she looked at the evening star, the Prioress heard again, with
startling distinctness, the final profanity of poor Sister Seraphine:
"I want life--not death!"
Along the corridor passed a short procession, on its way to the cell of
Mary Seraphine.
First went a nun, carrying a lighted taper.
Next, the two tall nuns who had borne Mary Seraphine to her cell.
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