r above
their heads, rolled in its solemn notes, and the whole choir broke into
song as they moved on.

The Archbishop, preceded by the Host borne aloft beneath a silken canopy,
wore a long red silk robe, of which the train was carried by two careless
acolytes, a red silk biretta and red gloves.

As the Host passed the people knelt and rose, and knelt again as the
Archbishop came--a sort of human tide, rising and kneeling and rising
again, to dust their knees and stare about them, which was not without a
symbolical meaning for those who know the history of the Church in Latin
countries.

The face of the Archbishop struck a sudden and startling note of
sincerity as he passed on with upheld hand and eyes turning from side to
side with a luminous look of love and tenderness as he silently invoked
God's blessing on these his people. He passed on, leaving in some
doubting hearts, perhaps, the knowledge that amid much that was mistaken,
and tawdry and superstitious and evil, here at all events was one good
man.

Immediately behind him, came the beadle in vestments and a long flaxen
wig ill-combed, put on all awry, making room with his staff and hitting
the people if they would not leave off praying and get out of the way.

Then followed the choir--a living study in evil countenances--
perfunctory, careless, snuff-blown and ill-shaven, with cold hard faces
like Inquisitors.

All the while the great bell was booming overhead, and the whole
atmosphere seemed to vibrate with sound and emotion. It was moving and
impressive, especially for those who think that the Almighty is better
pleased with abject abasement than a plain common-sense endeavour to do
better, and will accept a long tale of public penance before the record
of simple daily duties honestly performed.

Near the great porch on either side of the bishop's path were ranged the
seminarists, in cassocks of black with a dark blue or red
hood--depressing looking youths with flaccid faces and an unhealthy eye.
Behind them stood a group of friars in rough woolen garments of brown,
with heads clean shaven all but an inch of closely cut hair like a halo
on a saint. They seemed cheerful and were laughing and joking among
themselves while the procession passed.

Behind these, on their knees, were the girls of the convent school--and
all around them closed in the crowd. Juanita was at one end of the row
and Sor Teresa at the other. Juanita was looking about her. Her spec