xiom that spiritual crimes deserved
only spiritual punishment. This he could understand. He perceived
clearly enough that no society can preserve its identity without
limitations; that no association can cohere without definite
rules that must be obeyed. He was sufficiently educated then to
understand that a man who chooses to disregard the demands of a
spiritual society, however arbitrary these demands may seem to
be, can no longer claim the privileges of the body to which he
has hitherto adhered. But that death--brutal physical
death--could by any civilized society--still less any modern
Christian society--be even an alternative penalty for heresy,
shocked him beyond description.

A ray of hope had shone on him when he first read the facts. It
might be, perhaps, that this was merely a formal sentence, as
were the old penalties for high treason abandoned long before
they were repealed. He turned to the index; and after a search
leaned back again in despair. He had seen half a dozen cases
quoted, within the last ten years, in England alone, in which the
penalty had been inflicted.

It was half an hour before he stood up, with one determination at
least formed in his mind--that he would consult no one. He had
learnt in the last few weeks sufficient distrust of himself to
refrain from formulating conclusions too soon, and he learnt
enough of the world in which he found himself to understand that
positions accepted as self-evident by society in general, which
yet seemed impossible to himself, after all occasionally turned
out to be at least not ridiculous.

But to think that it was the young monk with whom he had talked
at Lourdes who was to be the centre of the process he himself had
to prepare! . . . He understood now some of the hints that Dom
Adrian Bennett had let fall.

(III)

A card was brought up to him a couple of evenings later as he
sat at his desk; and as he turned it over Father Jervis
himself hurried in.

"May I speak to you alone an instant?" he said; and glanced at
the secretaries, who rose and went out without a word.

"You look unwell," said the old priest keenly, as he sat down.

Monsignor waved a deprecatory hand.

"Well--I'm glad I caught you in time," went on the other. "I saw
the man come in; and wondered whether you knew about him."

"Mr. Hardy?"

"Yes--James Hardy."

"Well--I just know he's not a Catholic; and something of a politician."

"Well, he's quite the shrewdest man