She guessed not ill, for I had my lecture in due course. Sister Ada came into my cell—had she bidden me to hers, I should have had a chance to leave, but of course I could not turn her forth—and told me she had been for long time deeply concerned at my want of spiritual discernment. “Truly, Sister, no more than I am,” said I. “Now, Sister, you reckon me unkindly, I cast no doubt,” saith she: “but verily I must be faithful with you. You take too much upon you,—you who are but just promoted to your office—and are not ready enough to learn of those who have had more experience. In short, Sister Annora, you are very much wanting in true humility.”
“Indeed, Sister Ada, it is too true,” said I. “I beseech you, Sister, to pray that you may have your eyes opened to the discerning of your faults,” saith she. “You are much too partial and prejudiced in your governance of the Sisters, and likewise with the children. Some you keep not under as you should; and to others you grant too little freedom.”
“Indeed, Sister, I am afraid it may be so, though I have tried hard to avoid it.”
“Well, Sister, I hope you will think of these things, and that our Lord may give you more of the grace of humility. You lack it very much, I can assure you. I would you would try to copy such of us as are really humble and meek.”
“That I earnestly desire, Sister,” said I: “but is it not better to copy our Lord Himself than any earthly example? I thank you for your reproof, and I will try harder to be humble.”
“You know, Sister,” said she, as she was going forth, “I have no wish but to be faithful. I cannot bear telling others of their faults. Only, I must be faithful.”
“I thank you, Sister Ada,” said I.
So away she went. Sister Gaillarde said when she saw me, with one of her grim smiles—
“Well! is the lecture over? Did she bite very hard?”
“She saith I am greatly lacking in meekness and humility, and take too much on myself,” said I: “and I dare say it is true.”