nal glances over the shoulder. If children dance into the field
of vision, they are petulantly driven elsewhere. Tell me? Did Sister
Seraphine's desire for life include any expression of the desire to
give life?"

Involuntarily the Prioress glanced at the sweet Babe upon the Virgin's
knees.

"No," she said, very low.

"I thought not," said the Bishop. "Self-centred, shallow natures are
not capable of the sublime passion for motherhood; partly, no doubt,
because they themselves possess no life worth passing on."

The Prioress rose quickly and, moving to the window, flung open a
second casement. It was imperative, at that moment, to hide her face;
for the uncontrollable flood of emotion at her heart, could scarce fail
to send a tell-tale wave to disturb the calm of her countenance.

Whereupon the Bishop turned, to see at what the Prioress had glanced
before answering his question.

"No," he mused, as she resumed her seat, his eyes upon the tree-tops
beyond the casement, "the Seraphines have not the instinct of
motherhood. And the future greatness of our race depends upon those
noble women who are able to pass on to their sons and daughters a life
which is true, and brave, and worthy; a life whose foundation is
self-sacrifice, whose cornerstone is loyalty, and from whose summit
waves the banner of unsullied love of hearth and home.

"A woman with the true instinct of motherhood cannot see a little child
without yearning to clasp it to her bosom. When she finds her mate,
she thinks more of being the mother of his children than the object of
his devotion, because the Self in her is subservient to the maternal
instinct for self-sacrifice. These women are pure as snow, and they
hold their men to the highest and the best. Such women are needed in
the world. Our Lady knoweth, I speak not lightly, unadvisedly nor
wantonly; but were Seraphine such an one as this, I should say; 'Leave
the door on the latch. Without permission, yet without reproach--let
her go.'"

"Were Seraphine such an one as that, my lord," said the Prioress,
firmly, "then would there be no question of her going. If the
cornerstone of character be loyalty, the very essential of loyalty is
the keeping of vows."

"Quite so," murmured the Bishop; "undoubtedly, my daughter. Unless, by
some strange fatality, those vows were made under a total
misapprehension. You tell me Sister Seraphine expected a man to
intervene?"

The Bishop sat up, of