d her hand and pointed to the figure of the Christ,
hanging upon the great rugged cross against the wall, facing the door.
The sublimity of a supreme adoration was in her voice, as she made her
last appeal.

"Surely," she said, "surely no love of self can live, in view of the
death and sacrifice of our blessed Lord! Kneel then before the
crucifix and learn----"

But the over-wrought mind of Sister Seraphine, suddenly convinced of
the futility of its hopeless rebellion, passed, in that moment,
altogether beyond control.

With a shout of wild laughter, she flung back her head, pointing with
outstretched finger at the crucifix.

"Death! Death! Death!" she shrieked, "helpless, hopeless, terrible!
I ask for life, I want to live; I am young, I am gay, I am beautiful.
And they bid--bid--bid me kneel--long hours--watching death." Her
voice rose to a piercing scream. "Ah, HA! That will I NOT! A dead
God cannot help me! I want life, not death!"

Shrieking she leapt to her feet, flew across the room, beat upon the
sacred Form with her fists; tore at It with her fingers.

One instant of petrifying horror. Then the Prioress was upon her.

Seizing her by both wrists she flung her to the floor, then pulled a
rope passing over a pulley in the wall, which started the great
alarm-bell, in the passage, clanging wildly.

At once there came a rush of flying feet; calls for the Sub-Prioress;
but she was already there.

When they flung wide the door, lo, the Prioress stood--with white face
and blazing eyes, her arms outstretched--between them and the crucifix.

Upon the floor, a crumpled heap, lay Sister Mary Seraphine.

The nuns, in a frightened crowd, filled the doorway, none daring to
speak, or to enter; till old Mary Antony, pushing past the
Sub-Prioress, kneeled down beside the Reverend Mother, and, lifting the
hem of her robe, kissed it and pressed it to her breast.

Slowly the Prioress let fall her arms.

"Enter," she said; and they flocked in.

"Sister Seraphine," said the Prioress, in awful tones, "has profaned
the crucifix, reviling our blessed Lord, Who hangs thereon."

All the nuns, falling upon their knees, hid their faces in their hands.

There was a terrifying quality in the silence of the next moments.

Slowly the Prioress turned, prostrated herself at the foot of the
cross, and laid her forehead against the floor at its base. Then the
nuns heard one deep, shuddering sob.

Not a head was lifted.