of the rising sun, most of which had rebounded from its drab,
incrusted walls and sped out again over the dancing sea. A few,
however, escaped reflection by stealing through the slanting
shutters of a window close under the roof of the building. Within,
they fell upon a man kneeling on the tiled floor beside a rude cot
bed.

In appearance the man was not more than twenty-five years of age. His
black, close-curling hair, oval face, and skin of deep olive tint
indicated a Latin origin. His clerical garb proclaimed him a son of
the Church. The room was a small, whitewashed cell of stone, musty
with the dampness which had swept in from the sea during the night. It
was furnished with Spartan simplicity. Neither image, crucifix, nor
painting adorned its walls--the occupant's dress alone suggested his
calling. A hanging shelf held a few books, all evidently used as
texts in the adjoining college. A table, much littered; a wooden
dressing stand, with a small mirror; and an old-fashioned, haircloth
trunk, bearing numerous foreign labels, eked out the paucity of
furnishings.

If the man prayed, there was only his reverent attitude to indicate
it, for no words escaped his lips. But the frequent straining of his
tense body, and the fierce clenching of his thin hands, as he threw
his arms out over the unopened bed, were abundant evidence of a soul
tugging violently at its moorings. His was the attitude of one who has
ceased to inveigh against fate, who kneels dumbly before the cup of
Destiny, knowing that it must be drained.

With the break of day the bells awoke in the church towers throughout
the old city, and began to peal forth their noisy reminder of the
virility of the Holy Catholic faith. Then the man raised his head,
seemingly startled into awareness of his material environment. For a
few moments he listened confusedly to the insistent clatter--but he
made no sign of the cross, nor did his head bend with the weight of a
hollow _Ave_ on his bloodless lips while the clamoring muezzins filled
the warm, tropical air with their jangling appeal. Rising with an air
of weary indifference, he slowly crossed the room and threw wide the
shutters of the solitary window, admitting a torrent of sunlight. As
he did this, the door of the cell softly opened, and a young novitiate
entered.

"With your permission, Padre," said the boy, bowing low. "His Grace
summons you to the Cathedral."

The man made a languid gesture of dismissal, a