The White Ladies of Worcester - A Romance of the Twelfth Century by Florence L. (Florence Louisa) Barclay
page 33 of 517 (06%)
page 33 of 517 (06%)
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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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