accepted such. He could say "_Adveniat regnum
tuum. ... Fiat voluntas tua_," five thousand times a day, if God wanted
that; but there was no sting or touch, no sense of vibration through the
cords that his will threw up to the Heavenly Throne. What in the world
then did God want him to do? Was it just then to repeat formulas, to lie
still, to open despatches, to listen through the telephone, and to
suffer?

And then the rest of the world--the madness that had seized upon the
nations; the amazing stories that had poured in that day of the men in
Paris, who, raving like Bacchantes, had stripped themselves naked in the
Place de Concorde, and stabbed themselves to the heart, crying out to
thunders of applause that life was too enthralling to be endured; of the
woman who sang herself mad last night in Spain, and fell laughing and
foaming in the concert hall at Seville; of the crucifixion of the
Catholics that morning in the Pyrenees, and the apostasy of three
bishops in Germany.... And this ... and this ... and a thousand more
horrors were permitted, and God made no sign and spoke no word....

There was a tap, and Percy sprang up as the Cardinal came in.

He looked horribly worn; and his eyes had a kind of sunken brilliance
that revealed fever. He made a little motion to Percy to sit down, and
himself sat in the deep chair, trembling a little, and gathering his
buckled feet beneath his red-buttoned cassock.

"You must forgive me, father," he said. "I am anxious for the Bishop's
safety. He should be here by now."

This was the Bishop of Southwark, Percy remembered, who had left England
early that morning.

"He is coming straight through, your Eminence?"

"Yes; he should have been here by twenty-three. It is after midnight, is
it not?"

As he spoke, the bells chimed out the half-hour.

It was nearly quiet now. All day the air had been full of sound; mobs
had paraded the suburbs; the gates of the City had been barred, yet that
was only an earnest of what was to be expected when the world understood
itself.

The Cardinal seemed to recover himself after a few minutes' silence.

"You look tired out, father," he said kindly.

Percy smiled.

"And your Eminence?" he said.

The old man smiled too.

"Why, yes," he said. "I shall not last much longer, father. And then it
will be you to suffer."

Percy sat up, suddenly, sick at heart.

"Why, yes," said the Cardinal. "The Holy Father has arranged it. You are
to succ