hands upon his knee and looking
down, "there is but one Consoler in sorrow such as yours. It is vain for
us mortals to talk of any such thing as alleviating real mental
suffering. There are consolations--many of them--for some people, but
they are not for you. To many the accidents of wealth, of youth, of
beauty, seem to open the perspective of a brilliant future at the very
moment when all the present appears to be shrouded in darkness; but if
you will permit me, who know you so little, to say it frankly, I do not
believe that any of these things which you possess in such plentiful
abundance will lessen the measure of your grief. It is not right that
they should, I suppose. It is not fitting that noble minds should even
possess the faculty of forgetting real suffering in the unreal trifles
of a great worldly possession, which so easily restore the weak to
courage, and natter the vulgar into the forgetfulness of honourable
sorrow. I am no moraliser, no pedantic philosopher. The stoic may have
shrugged his heavy shoulders in sullen indifference to fate; the
epicurean may have found such bodily ease in his excessive refinement
of moderate enjoyment as to overlook the deepest afflictions in
anticipating the animal pleasure of the next meal. I cannot conceive of
such men as those philosophising diners; nor can I imagine by what
arguments the wisest of mankind could induce a fellow-creature in
distress to forget his sufferings. Sorrow is sorrow still to all finely
organised natures. The capacity for feeling sorrow is one of the highest
tests of nobility--a nobility of nature not found always in those of high
blood and birth, but existing in the people, wherever the people are
good."

The Cardinal's voice became even more gentle as he spoke. He was himself
of very humble origin, and spoke feelingly. Corona listened, though she
only heard half of what he said; but his soft tone soothed her almost
unconsciously.

"There is little consolation for me--I am quite alone," she said.

"You are not of those who find relief in worldly greatness," continued
the Cardinal. "But I have seen women, young, rich, and beautiful, wear
their mourning with wonderful composure. Youth is so much, wealth is so
much more, beauty is such a power in the world--all three together are
resistless. Many a young widow is not ashamed to think of marriage before
her husband has been dead a month. Indeed they do not always make bad
wives. A woman who has b