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The White Ladies of Worcester - A Romance of the Twelfth Century by Florence L. (Florence Louisa) Barclay
page 33 of 517 (06%)
Sister Seraphine laughed--a hard, self-conscious, little laugh.

"Nay, I could not have brooked to be bound to any man. But I liked to
be loved, and I liked to be First in the thought and heart of another."

The Prioress looked at the pretty, tear-stained face, at the softly
moulded form. Then an idea came to her. 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
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