, and
yet what mortifications did she not impose upon me! for she served
me according to her own taste, which was entirely opposed to mine."

Therese's spirit of sacrifice was far-reaching; she eagerly sought
what was painful and disagreeable, as her rightful share. All that
God asked she gave Him without hesitation or reserve.

"During my postulancy," she said, "it cost me a great deal to
perform certain exterior penances, customary in our convents, but
I never yielded to these repugnances; it seemed to me that the
image of my Crucified Lord looked at me with beseeching eyes, and
begged these sacrifices."

Her vigilance was so keen, that she never left unobserved any
little recommendations of the Mother Prioress, or any of the small
rules which render the religious life so meritorious. One of the
old nuns, having remarked her extraordinary fidelity on this
point, ever afterwards regarded her as a Saint. Soeur Therese was
accustomed to say that she never did any great penances. That was
because her fervour counted as nothing the few that were allowed
her. It happened, however, that she fell ill through wearing for
too long a time a small iron Cross, studded with sharp points,
that pressed into her flesh. "Such a trifle would not have caused
this," she said afterwards, "if God had not wished thus to make me
understand that the greater austerities of the Saints are not
meant for me--nor for the souls that walk in the path of
'spiritual childhood.'"

. . . . . . .

"The souls that are the most dear to My Father," Our Lord once
said to Saint Teresa, "are those He tries the most, and the
greatness of their trials is the measure of His Love." Therese was
a soul most dear to God, and He was about to fill up the measure
of His Love by making her pass through a veritable martyrdom. The
reader will remember the call on Good Friday, April 3, 1896, when,
to use her own expression, she heard the "distant murmur which
announced the approach of the Bridegroom"; but she had still to
endure long months of pain before the blessed hour of her
deliverance.

On the morning of that Good Friday, she made so little of the
haemorrhage of the previous night, that Mother Prioress allowed her
to practise all the penances prescribed by the Rule for that day.
In the afternoon, a novice saw her cleaning windows. Her face was
livid, and, in spite of her great energy, it was evident that her
strength was almost spent. Seeing her f