The leave-taking of the Brother being ended, the congregation received the general blessing and dispersed. The moment had now come when Frau von Trautenau and her sons must part from Adele, and many were the tears shed on the occasion.
The night grew late; the lamp was lighted in Agatha’s room. Presently a gentle tapping was heard on the door, answered by a kindly “Come in.”
Carmen entered; and when Agatha, raising her eyes, recognized the girl, she put aside her spectacles, and said gently: “Come nearer, dear Sister; I was expecting you.” She drew up a chair, but Carmen put it aside, and kneeling by Sister Agatha’s side, said:
“No, Sister, let me remain here and hear what you have to say, for you are going to chide me—I am sure of it.”
“Carmen, do you believe I love you?” she inquired.
“Surely,” answered the girl, quickly. “More than any one else here.”
“Then you know that my heart grieves when I cannot feel satisfied with you,” continued the Sister. “Why are your thoughts constantly dwelling on worldly things, and why do you allow yourself to be overcome with pride, instead of putting your mind on serious matters, and being more humble?”
“You are angry with me, Sister Agatha, because I did not tell from what distant land I came. That is not such a dreadful crime,” said Carmen, cheerfully.
The serious countenance of the Sister grew yet more grave, and she looked severely at the kneeling figure.
“Have you, then, not thought of the text for to-day?” she asked reprovingly,
Carmen flushed up quickly; she tried to compose herself, but was for a moment at a loss what to say. She had during the past day been through such new experiences; whereas, heretofore, every day had been pretty much the same.
Sister Agatha waited patiently for Carmen to become calmer. At last, when she seemed to have forgotten her confusion about the text, Agatha said: “Now tell me the watchword.”
When the maiden’s eyes turned to the usual place for the motto, her thoughts seemed to cease wandering, and she repeated the verse correctly:
“‘Feed Thou Thy people with Thy staff.’”
“Remember, my Sister, the purport of those words. ‘Thy people’ are those who belong to Him; ‘with Thy staff’ means, with the support of His strength. Carmen, how can the Lord guide you with His staff, if you do not bow your will before Him, and try to curb your pride?”
Carmen, as she knelt, had rested her elbows on Sister Agatha’s lap, and thus supported her head on her hands, while she gazed into the speaker’s face, thinking earnestly of what she said.
“Do you call it pride, and are you vexed with me because I would not tell to strangers what was indifferent, or perhaps amusing, to them? Oh, Sister Agatha, is it necessary that we expose ourselves to the derision of the world? We do not serve God by doing that. And when you speak of pride, is it not that very feeling which leads you to boast of our having come from so many and such distant lands? Do you not wish to demonstrate by that means how your faith has penetrated into all parts of the world? That is, after all, pride under the garb of humility.”