"He scorns no one; and they say the lowest are nearest Him, the Highest."
"I can certainly never be anything but the lowest," she said. "It is fit no one here should think much of me, for I have only given the refuse of my life to God. And besides, I had never much power to think; and the little I had seems gone since Eberhard died. I had only a little power to love; and I thought that was dead. But since you came, I begin to think I might yet love a little."
As I left the cell she called me back.
"What shall I do when my thoughts wander, as they always do in the long prayers?" she asked.
"Make shorter prayers, I think, oftener," I said. "I think that would please God as much."
August, 1511.
The months pass on very much the same here; but I do not find them monotonous. I am permitted by the prioress to wait on the sick, and also often to teach the younger novices. This little world grows larger to me every week. It is a world of human hearts,—and what a world there is in every heart!
For instance, Aunt Agnes! I begin now to know her. All the sisterhood look up to her as almost a saint already. But I do not believe she thinks so herself. For many months after I entered the cloister she scarcely seemed to notice me; but last week she brought herself into a low fever by the additional fasts and severities she has been imposing on herself lately.
It was my night to watch in the infirmary when she became ill.
At first she seemed to shrink from receiving anything at my hands.