"However, she was forgiven at last and taken into favor again, but it was not long before she got into some new trouble by a hasty answer. I must say she had a trying temper, always looking out for affronts. After that she grew very odd and silent. I was mistress of the novices at that time, and I tried hard to win her confidence, but in vain. At last, oh, poor thing! She was missing, and we found a part of her clothing hanging on a bush some way down the river, which was very high at the time. Either she drowned herself or fell in and was unable to get out. I hope the latter, for I was fond of her, though she made me a good deal of trouble. I have never ceased to pray for her soul," said the good sister, wiping her eyes, which had overflowed plentifully. "If she is beyond the reach of prayers, they may benefit some other poor soul in purgatory. There, now, I have made you cry too. What a tender heart you have! Let it be a warning to you, my child." I wondered what the story was meant to warn me from, but I said nothing, and we began to talk of other things till the sister left me, and then I had my cry out. Poor Lucille! So this was the end. And she had actually fallen into disgrace for trying to warn my parents of their danger! It was very sad, and yet somehow I felt comforted about her, I could not tell why. I was just recovering my composure when I met Mother Superior and Mother Mary of the Incarnation walking together. The latter seemed to be laying down the law in rather an authoritative style, I thought, to which the Superior listened with some apparent impatience, and at last broke out with: "No doubt, sister, you may be right. I dare say you know how to rule your own house to perfection. I am sure if I were visiting you, I should never think for a moment of advising you upon the management of your family." Mother Mary was not so dead to worldly affection but that she reddened visibly at this significant speech. She made no reply to the Superior, but turned sharply upon me. "What are you doing here by yourself, child? Crying, I see. That is very wrong. Understand, once for all, that you are not to separate yourself in this way from your companions. You are not so very much better than they. Let me see no more of it!" "I have not been alone till this very moment, reverend mother," I answered, in a tone which I meant to be very humble. "I have been walking with Sister St. Stanislaus, who was telling me an affecting story. But—I fear I am very ignorant, reverend mother—I thought from the history the sister read us this morning that solitude and tears were among the most blessed things to the soul. I was so much interested in hearing how that holy young lady sat in the hen-house and cried all day by herself." The mother looked fairly posed, as if she did not know what to answer.