"Give me tenderness," she said, and an agony of supplication was in her voice; also a rain of tears softened the hard lines of her face.
Our blessèd Lady smiled, and the sweet Babe looked merry.
Mother Sub-Prioress passed to the window. The sun, round and blood red, as at that very moment reflected in Hugh d'Argent's shield, was just about to dip below the horizon. When next it rose, the day would have dawned which would see her Prioress of the White Ladies of Worcester.
She turned to the place where the Prioress's chair of state stood empty. During the walk to and from the Cathedral, she had planned to come alone to this chamber, and seat herself in the chair which would so soon be hers. But now a new humbleness restrained her.
Falling upon her knees before the empty chair, she lifted clasped hands heavenward.
"O God," she said, "I am not worthy to take Her place. My heart is hard and cold; my tongue is ofttimes cruel; my spirit is censorious. But I have learned a lesson from the bird and a lesson from the Babe; and that which I know not teach Thou me. Create in me a new heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Grant unto me to follow in Her gracious steps, and to rule, as She ruled, by that love which never faileth."
Then, stooping to the ground, she kissed the place where the feet of the Prioress had been wont to rest.
The sun had set behind the distant hills, when Mother Sub-Prioress rose from her knees.
An unspeakable peace filled her soul. She had prayed, by name, for each member of the Community; and as she prayed, a gift of love for each had been granted to her.
Ah, would they make discovery, before the morrow, that instead of the brier had come up the myrtle tree?