Indeed, she more often found fault with herself for being harsh in her judgments and too peremptory and tyrannical in the government of her community, than for giving way easily to the impulses of human sympathy.

She was not nervous either, in the sense of her nerves being unsteady or overwrought in consequence of a long-continued strain; there was nothing in her weeping that could have suggested a neurotic breakdown even to the most sceptical of physicians.

It was genuine, irresistible, overwhelming grief, and she knew that its cause was not even in part imaginary, but was altogether real, and terrible beyond any expression.
Nevertheless, she found strength to speak to Monsignor Saracinesca of Sister Giovanna's intention, one day when he came to see her early in the morning on a matter of business; for he managed the finances of the Convent hospital and was also its representative in any questions in which the institution, as distinguished from the order had secular dealings with the world.
The prelate and the Mother met as usual in the cloistered garden, and when Convent affairs had been disposed of, they continued their walk in silence for a few moments.
'I want your unprejudiced opinion about the future of one of the Sisters,' said the Mother Superior at last, in her usual tone.
'I will try to give it,' answered Monsignor Saracinesca.
'Sister Giovanna wishes to go to Rangoon with the other three.' The churchman betrayed no surprise, and answered without hesitation: 'You know what I always say in such cases, when I am consulted.' 'Yes.

I have given her that advice--to wait a month to try to put the idea out of her mind, to make sure that it is not a passing impulse.' 'You cannot do more,' said Monsignor Saracinesca, 'nor can I.' The Mother Superior turned up her white face and looked at him so steadily that he gazed at her in surprise.
'It ought to be stopped,' she said, with sudden energy.

'It may be wrong to call it suicide and to interfere on that ground, but there is another, and a good one.