Seraphine.

This young nun had but lately been sent on to the Nunnery at Whytstone
from a convent at Tewkesbury in which she had served her novitiate, and
taken her final vows. The Prioress now realised how little she knew of
the inner working of the mind of Sister Seraphine, and blamed herself
for having looked upon the outward appearance rather than upon the
heart, taken too much for granted, and relied too entirely upon the
reports of others. Her sense of failure, toward the Community in
general, and toward Seraphine in particular, lent her a fresh stock of
patience.

She raised the weeping nun from the floor, put her arm around her, with
protective gesture, and led her before the Shrine of the Madonna.

"My child," she said, "there are things we are called upon to suffer
which we can best tell to our blessèd Lady, herself. Try to unburden
your heart and find comfort . . . Does your mind hark back to the
thought of the earthly love you resigned in order to give yourself
solely to the heavenly? . . . Are you troubled by fears lest you
wronged the man you loved, when, leaving him, you became the bride of
Heaven?"

Sister Seraphine smiled--a scornful little smile. "Nay," she said, "I
was weary of Wilfred. But--there were others."

The voice of the Prioress grew even graver, and more sad.

"Is it then the Fact of marriage which you desired and regret?"