There was a look of strength and of restfulness about the long fingers and beautifully moulded hands.

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.