heer genius of oratory. Chord
after chord of his human instrument he had touched unerringly, now
stirring the blood with exquisite phrases, now steeping the mind in
magnetic silence. Paul recognised, and was awe-stricken, that this
white-haired ascetic man wielded a power almost as great as his own.

When finally he passed out from the Cathedral, the impression of the
Mass had lost much of its hold upon him, but the haunting cadences of
that suave Italian voice followed him eerily. Near the open doors a
priest, wearing cassock and biretta, stood narrowly scrutinising each
face, and as Paul was about to pass he extended his hand, detaining him.
"Mr. Paul Mario?" he said.

"I am Paul Mario, yes."

"His Eminence, Cardinal Pescara, begs the favour of a few moments'
conversation."

* * * * *

Opening a private door the priest led Paul along a bare, tiled corridor.
Paul followed his guide in silence, his brain busy with conjectures
respecting how and by whom his presence in the Cathedral had been
detected. His appearance was familiar to most people, he was aware, but
he had entered unostentatiously among a group of black-clad women, and
had thought himself unrecognised. In the mode of making his acquaintance
adopted by the Cardinal he perceived the working of that subtle Italian
intellect. The unexpected summons whilst yet his mind was under the
influence of ceremonial, the direct appeal to the dramatic which never
fails with one of artistic temperament; it was well conceived to enslave
the imagination of the man who had written _Francesca of the Lilies_. He
was conscious of nervousness, of an indefinable apprehension, and ere
he had come to the end of the bare corridor, the poet, deserting the
man, had posted halberdiers outside the door which the priest had
unlocked and had set a guard over that which they were approaching. His
guide became a cowled familiar of the Holy Office, and beyond the second
door in an apartment black-draped and sepulchral and lighted by ghostly
candles, inquisitors awaited him who, sweetly solicitous for his
spiritual well-being, would watch men crush his limbs in iron boots,
suspend him by his thumbs from a beam and tear out his tongue with
white-hot pincers. Then if spark of life remained in his mutilated body,
they would direct, amid murmured _Aves_, that his eyes be burned from
their sockets in order that he might look upon heresy no more. His guide
rapped u