this scandal; he visited Clement twice a day
in his cell, and tried all his old influence and all his eloquence to
induce him to shake off this unspiritual despondency, and not rob the
church of his piety and his eloquence at so critical a period.

Gerard heard him, approved his reasoning, admired his strength,
confessed his own weakness, and continued visibly to wear away to the
land of the leal. One day Jerome told him he had heard his story, and
heard it with pride. "But now," said he, "you spoil it all, Clement; for
this is the triumph of earthly passion. Better have yielded to it and
repented, than resist it while she lived, and succumb under it now, body
and soul."

"Dear Jerome," said Clement, so sweetly as to rob his remonstrance of
the tone of remonstrance, "here, I think, you do me some injustice.
Passion there is none; but a deep affection, for which I will not blush
here, since I shall not blush for it in heaven. Bethink thee, Jerome,
the poor dog that dies of grief on his master's grave, is he guilty of
passion? Neither am I. Passion had saved my life, and lost my soul, She
was my good angel; she sustained me in my duty and charity; her face
encouraged me in the pulpit; her lips soothed me under ingratitude. She
intertwined herself with all that was good in my life; and after leaning
on her so long, I could not go on alone. And, dear Jerome, believe me
I am no rebel against Heaven. It is God's will to release me. When they
threw the earth upon her poor coffin, something snapped within my bosom
here that mended may not be. I heard it, and I felt it. And from that
time, Jerome, no food that I put in my mouth had any savour. With my
eyes bandaged now I could not tell thee which was bread, and which was
flesh, by eating of it."

"Holy saints!"

"And again, from that same hour my deep dejection left me, and I smiled
again. I often smile--why? I read it thus: He in whose hands are the
issues of life and death gave me that minute the great summons; 'twas
some cord of life snapped in me. He is very pitiful. I should have lived
unhappy; but He said, 'No; enough is done, enough is suffered; poor
feeble, loving servant, thy shortcomings are forgiven, thy sorrows touch
thine end; come thou to thy rest!' I come, Lord, I come!"

Jerome groaned. "The Church had ever her holy but feeble servants," he
said. "Now would I give ten years of my life to save thine. But I see it
may not be. Die in peace."

And so it was t