She was thinking of the long years of secret conflict, known only to Him from Whom no secrets are hid; of the constant cleansing of her thoughts, for which she had so earnestly pleaded; of the fear lest she should never worthily magnify that Holy Name.
Presently--her heart filled with humble tenderness--she turned to Sister Seraphine.
"These prayers, my child, which you will commit to memory before you sleep this night, will protect you from a too insistent recollection of the world you have resigned; and will assist you, with real inward thoroughness, to die daily to self, in order that the Holy Name of our dear Lord may be more worthily magnified in you." But, alas! this gentle treatment, these long silences, this quiet recitation of holy prayers, had but stirred the naughty spirit in Sister Seraphine.
Her shallow nature failed to understand the deeps of the noble heart, dealing thus tenderly with her.

She measured its ocean-wide greatness, by the little artificial runnels of her own morbid emotions.

She mistook gentleness for weakness; calm self-control, for lack of strength of will.

Her wholesome awe of the Prioress was forgotten.
"But I do not want to die!" she exclaimed.

"I want to live--to live--to live!" The Prioress looked up, astonished.
The surface humility had departed from the swollen countenance of Sister Seraphine.