ct. We do not condemn you, my son. It
was the work of the Evil One, who has ever found through your
weaknesses easy access to your soul."

Jose raised his blurred eyes and gazed at the Holy Father in perplexed
astonishment. But the genial countenance of the patriarch seemed to
confirm his mild words. A smile, tender and patronizing, in which Jose
read forgiveness--and yet with it a certain undefined something which
augured conditions upon which alone penalty for his culpability would
be remitted--lighted up the pale features of the Holy Father and
warmed the frozen life-currents of the shrinking priest.

"My son," the Pontiff continued tenderly, "our love for our wandering
children is but stimulated by their need of our protecting care. Fear
not; the guilty publisher of your notes has been awakened to his
fault, and the book which he so thoughtlessly issued has been quite
suppressed."

Jose bent his head and patiently awaited the conclusion.

"You have lain for weeks at death's door, my son. The words which you
uttered in your delirium corroborated our own thought of your
innocence of intentional wrong. And now that you have regained your
reason, you will confess to us that your reports, and especially your
account of the recent conversation between the Cardinal-Secretary of
State and the Cardinal-Bishop, were written under that depression of
mind which has long afflicted you, producing a form of mental
derangement, and giving rise to frequent hallucination. It is this
which has caused us to extend to you our sympathy and protection. Long
and intense study, family sorrow, and certain inherited traits of
disposition, whose rapid development have tended to lack of normal
mental balance, account to us for those deeds of eccentricity on your
part which have plunged us into extreme embarrassment and yourself
into the illness which threatened your young life. Is it not so, my
son?"

The priest stared up at the speaker in bewilderment. This unexpected
turn of affairs had swept his defense from his mind.

"The Holy Father awaits your reply," the Papal Secretary spoke with
severity. His own thought had been greatly ruffled that morning, and
his patience severely taxed by a threatened mutiny among the Swiss
guards, whose demands in regard to the quantity of wine allowed them
and whose memorial recounting other alleged grievances he had just
flatly rejected. The muffled cries of "_Viva Garibaldi!_" as the
petitioners left