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 lifted her hand and pointed to the figure of the Christ, hanging upon the great rugged cross against the wall, facing the door.
The sublimity of a supreme adoration was in her voice, as she made her last appeal.
"Surely," she said, "surely no love of self can live, in view of the death and sacrifice of our blessed Lord! Kneel then before the crucifix and learn----" But the over-wrought mind of Sister Seraphine, suddenly convinced of the futility of its hopeless rebellion, passed, in that moment, altogether beyond control.
With a shout of wild laughter, she flung back her head, pointing with outstretched finger at the crucifix.
"Death! Death! Death!" she shrieked, "helpless, hopeless, terrible! I ask for life, I want to live; I am young, I am gay, I am beautiful.
And they bid--bid--bid me kneel--long hours--watching death." Her voice rose to a piercing scream.