body must be let down into eight feet of water.
The clergy, who thought him innocent, recommended the hot water trial,
which, to those whom they favoured, was not so terrible as it sounded.
But the poor wretch had not the nerve, and chose the cold ordeal. And
this gave Jerome another opportunity of steeling Clement. Antonelli took
the sacrament, and then was stripped naked on the banks of the Tiber,
and tied hand and foot, to prevent those struggles by which a man,
throwing his arms out of the water, sinks his body.

He was then let down gently into the stream, and floated a moment, with
just his hair above water. A simultaneous roar from the crowd on
each bank proclaimed him guilty. But the next moment the ropes,
which happened to be new, got wet, and he settled down. Another roar
proclaimed his innocence. They left him at the bottom of the river
the appointed time, rather more than half a minute, then drew him up,
gurgling and gasping, and screaming for mercy; and after the appointed
prayers, dismissed him, cleared of the charge.

During the experiment Clement prayed earnestly on the bank.

When it was over he thanked God in a loud but slightly quavering voice.

By-and-by he asked Jerome whether the man ought not to be compensated.

"For what?"

"For the pain, the dread, the suffocation. Poor soul, he liveth, but
hath tasted all the bitterness of death. Yet he had done no ill."

"He is rewarded enough in that he is cleared of his fault."

"But being innocent of that fault, yet hath he drunk Death's cup, though
not to the dregs; and his accusers, less innocent than he, do suffer
nought."

Jerome replied somewhat sternly--

"It is not in this world men are really punished, Brother Clement.
Unhappy they who sin yet suffer not. And happy they who suffer such ills
as earth hath power to inflict; 'tis counted to them above, ay, and a
hundred-fold."

Clement bowed his head submissively.

"May thy good words not fall to the ground, but take root in my heart,
Brother Jerome."

But the severest trial Clement underwent at Jerome's hands was
unpremeditated. It came about thus. Jerome, in an indulgent moment, went
with him to Fra Colonna, and there "The Dream of Polifilo" lay on the
table just copied fairly. The poor author, in the pride of his heart,
pointed out a master-stroke in it.

"For ages," said he, "fools have been lavishing poetic praise and
amorous compliment on mortal women, mere creatures of earth, sm