oung monk standing before him, beside the little table.

He had sat down again in the gallery while the abbot was gone,
watching mechanically the ushers come into the court and remove
the recording-boxes one by one; and meantime in his soul he
watched also, rather than tried to arrange, the thoughts that
fled past in ceaseless repetition. He could plan nothing,
formulate nothing. He just perceived, as a man himself sentenced
to death might perceive, that the Supreme Horror was a reality at
last. The very ordinariness of the scene he had witnessed, the
familiarity of some of the faces (he had sat next at dinner, not
a week ago, the brown-faced Canon-Theologian), the conversational
manner of the speakers, the complete absence of any dramatic
solemnity--these things increased the terror and repugnance he
felt. Were the preliminaries of Death for Heresy so simple as all
that? Was the point of view that made it possible so utterly
accepted by everyone as to allow the actual consummation to come
about so quietly? . . .

The thing seemed impossible and dreamlike. He strove to hold
himself quiet till he could understand. . . . But at the sight
of the young monk, paled and tired-looking, yet perfectly
serene, his self-control broke down. A spasm shook his face; he
stretched out his hands blindly and helplessly, and some sound
broke from his mouth.

He felt himself taken by the arm and led forward. Then he slipped
into a chair, and dropped his face in his hands upon the table.

It was a few moments before he recovered and looked up.

"There, there, Monsignor," said the monk. ". . . I didn't expect
this. There's nothing to----"

"But . . . but----"

"It's a shock to you, I see. . . . It's very kind. . . . But I
knew it all along. Surely you must have known----"

"I never dreamt of it. I never thought it conceivable. It's
abominable; it's----"

"Monsignor, this isn't kind to me," rang out the young voice
sternly; and the elder man recovered himself sharply. "Please talk
to me quietly. Father Abbot tells me you will see the Cardinal."

"I'll do anything--anything in my power. Tell me what I can do."

He had recovered himself, as under a douche of water, at the
sharpness of the monk's tone just now. He felt but one thing at
this instant, that he would strain every force he had to hinder
this crime. He remained motionless, conscious of that sensation
of intense tightness of nerve and sinew in which an overpressed
mind