old you."

The truth was dawning on the prelate little by little, helped by
the flash of the other kneeling white figure he had seen within.

"Yes," stammered the friar again. "The Holy Father. Back that
way, Monsignor. Yes, yes--that door straight opposite."

It was over; the two doors had closed almost simultaneously, behind
the friar as he had gone back to his duty, and behind the priest
who now stood again at the end of the long corridor down which he
had come. He stood here now, strangely moved and affected.

He had seen nothing remarkable in itself--the Pope at confession.
And yet in some manner, beyond the startling fact that he had
groped his way, all unknowing, to the Pope's private apartments,
and at such a moment, the dramatic contrast between the glare and
noise of the reception outside--itself the climax of a series of
brilliant external splendours--and the silent half-lighted chapel
where the Lord of All kneeled to confess his sins, caused a
surprising disturbance in his soul.

Up to now he had been introduced step by step into a new set of
experiences, Christian indeed, yet amazingly worldly in their
aspect; he had begun to learn that religion could transform the
outer world, and affect and use for its own purposes all the
pomps and glories of outward existence; he had begun to realize
that there was nothing alien to God--no line of division between
the Creator and the creature; and now, in one instant, he had
been brought face to face again with inner realities, and had
seen, as it were, a glimpse of the secret core of all the
splendour. The Pope attended by princes--the Pope on his knees
before a barefooted friar. These were the two magnetic points
between which blazed Religion.

He stood there, trembling a little, trying to steady his bewildered
brain--even now, in spite of his years, not unlike the brain of a
child. He passed his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. Then he
began to move down the passage again, to find his friends.

CHAPTER VII

(I)

"What I can't yet quite understand," said Monsignor, "is that
point I mentioned the other day about Faith and Science. I don't
see where one ends and the other begins. It seems to me that the
controversy must be unending. The materialist says that since
Nature does all things, even the most amazing things must be done
by her--that we shall be able to explain them all some day, when
Science has got a little farther. And the theologian