ou art; that, when thou shalt have paid the debt of
humanity by death, thou mayest return to the Maker, Who formed thee of
the dust of the earth. As thy soul goeth forth from the body, may the
bright company of angels meet thee; may the judicial senate of Apostles
greet thee; may the triumphant army of white-robed Martyrs come out to
welcome thee; may the band of glowing Confessors, crowned with lilies,
encircle thee; may the choir of Virgins, singing jubilees, receive thee;
and the embrace of a blessed repose fold thee in the bosom of the
Patriarchs; mild and festive may the aspect of Jesus Christ appear to
thee, and may He award thee a place among them that stand before Him for
ever."

And so it went on; some of it appealing to her more, some less; some
passages almost repulsive. But her imagination had caught on to the vast
outlines of the prayer--the enormous nature of the claims made on behalf
of the dying labourer.

Was it Pat Moloney who was to pass out of this darkness to "gaze with
blessed eyes on the vision of Truth"? What a tremendous assertion made
with such intensity of confidence! What a curious pageantry, too, so
magnificent in its simplicity, was ordered, almost in tones of command,
by the Church Militant for the reception of the charge she was giving
up. The triumphant army of Martyrs was to come out to meet him; the
Confessors were to "encircle him"; Michael was "to receive him as Prince
of the armies of Heaven." Peter, Paul, John were to be in attendance.
Nor in the rich strain was there any false ring of praise, or any
attempt to veil the weakness of humanity. "Rejoice his soul, O Lord,
with Thy Presence, and remember not the iniquities and excesses which,
through the violence of anger or the heat of evil passion, he hath at
any time committed. For, although he hath sinned, he hath not denied the
Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, but hath believed and hath had a
zeal for God, and hath faithfully adored the Creator of all things."

Was it an immense, an appalling impertinence--this great drama? Was it a
mere mockery of the impotence and darkness of man's life? Would the
priest say all this at the death-bed of the drunken beggar, of the
voluptuous tyrant, of the woman who had been too hard or too weak in the
bonds of the flesh? Was it a last great delusion, a last panacea given
by the Church to those who had consented to bandage their eyes and crook
their knees in childish obedience? Vaguely in