ing. Kitty was startled, for she had received from the Mother Superior the impression that she was a woman whom earthly troubles could not greatly move.
“I am afraid something has happened,” she faltered. “Would you like me to go away? I can come another time.”
“No, no. Tell me what I can do for you. It is only—only that one of our Sisters died last night.” Her voice lost its even tone and her eyes filled with tears. “It is wicked of me to grieve, for I know that her good and simple soul has flown straight to heaven; she was a saint; but it is difficult always to control one’s weakness. I am afraid I am not always very reasonable.”
“I’m so sorry, I’m so dreadfully sorry,” Kitty.
Her ready sympathy brought a sob into her voice.
“She was one of the Sisters who came out from France with me ten years ago. There are only three of us left now. I remember, we stood in a little group at the end of the boat (what do you call it, the bow?) and as we steamed out of the harbour at Marseilles and we saw the golden figure of Saint-Marie la Grace, we said a prayer together. It had been my greatest wish since I entered religion to be allowed to come to China, but when I saw the land grow distant I could not prevent myself from weeping. I was their Superior; it was not a very good example I was giving my daughters. And then Sister St. Francis Xavier—that is the name of
