"One morrow, about a week after our confessor's death, my Lady Prioress that then was told us at recreation-time that our new confessor had come. We were commanded to go to him, ten in the day, and to make a full confession from our infancy. My turn came on the second day. So many of our elder Sisters had died or been transferred, that I was, at twenty-five years, one of the eldest (beside the Mothers) left in the house. "I knelt down in the confessional, and repeated the Confiteor. Then, in that stony way, I went on with my life-confession: the falsehood that I had told when a child of eight, the obstinacy that I had shown at ten, the general sins whereof I had since been guilty: the weariness of divine things which ever oppressed me, the want of vocation that I had always felt. I finished, and paused. He would ask me some questions, of course. Let him get them over. There was silence for a moment. And then I heard myself asked--`Is that all thou hast to confess?'--in the voice I had loved best of all the world. My tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth. I only whispered, `Roland!' in tones which I could not have told for mine own. "`I scarce thought to find thee yet here, Margaret,' he said. `I well-nigh feared to do it. But after thy confession, I see wherefore God hath sent me--that I may pour out into the dry and thirsty cup of thine heart a little of that spiced wine of the kingdom which He hath given to me.' "Mine heart sank down very low. `Thou hast received thy vocation, then?' I said; and I felt the poor broken thing ache so that I knew it must be yet alive. Roland would care no more for me, if he had received a vocation. I must go on yet alone till death freed me. Alone, for evermore! "`I have received the blessedest of all vocations,' he answered; `the call to God Himself. Margaret, art thou thinking that if this be so, I shall love thee no more? Nay, for I shall love thee more than ever. Beloved, God is not stone and ice; He is not indifference nor hatred. Nay, He is love, and whoso dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God dwelleth in us, and His love is perfected in us. Open thy heart to that love, and then this little, little life will soon be over, and we shall dwell together beside the river of His pleasures, unto the ages of the ages.' "`It sounds fair, Roland,' I said; `but it is far away. My soul is hard and dry. I cannot tell how to open the door.' "`Then,' said he, `ask Jesus to lift the latch and to come in. Thou wilt never desire Him to go forth again. I have much to say: but it hath been long enough now. Every time thou prayest, say also, "Lord Jesu, come into mine heart and make it soft." He will come if thou desire Him. And if thou carest not to do this for His sake, do it for thine own.' "`I care not for mine own, nor for any thing,' I answered drearily. "`Then,' saith he, and the old tenderness came into his tone for a moment, `then, Margaret, do it for mine.'