d white cup, and
sat back in his chair.

* * * * *

Already the burden was lighter, and he was astonished at the swiftness
with which it had become so. Life looked simpler here; the interior
world was taken more for granted; it was not even a matter of debate.
There it was, imperious and objective, and through it glimmered to the
eyes of the soul the old Figures that had become shrouded behind the
rush of worldly circumstance. The very shadow of God appeared to rest
here; it was no longer impossible to realise that the saints watched and
interceded, that Mary sat on her throne, that the white disc on the
altar was Jesus Christ. Percy was not yet at peace after all, he had
been but an hour in Rome; and air, charged with never so much grace,
could scarcely do more than it had done. But he felt more at ease, less
desperately anxious, more childlike, more content to rest on the
authority that claimed without explanation, and asserted that the world,
as a matter of fact, proved by evidences without and within, was made
this way and not that, for this purpose and not the other. Yet he had
used the conveniences which he hated; he had left London a bare twelve
hours before, and now here he sat in a place which was either a stagnant
backwater of life, or else the very mid-current of it; he was not yet
sure which.

* * * * *

There was a step outside, a handle was turned; and the
Cardinal-Protector came through.

Percy had not seen him for four years, and for a moment scarcely
recognised him.

It was a very old man that he saw now, bent and feeble, his face covered
with wrinkles, crowned by very thin, white hair, and the little scarlet
cap on top; he was in his black Benedictine habit with a plain abbatial
cross on his breast, and walked hesitatingly, with a black stick. The
only sign of vigour was in the narrow bright slit of his eyes showing
beneath drooping lids. He held out his hand, smiling, and Percy,
remembering in time that he was in the Vatican, bowed low only as he
kissed the amethyst.

"Welcome to Rome, father," said the old man, speaking with an unexpected
briskness. "They told me you were here half-an-hour ago; I thought I
would leave you to wash and have your coffee."

Percy murmured something.

"Yes; you are tired, no doubt," said the Cardinal, pulling out a chair.

"Indeed not, your Eminence. I slept excellently."

The Cardinal made a little gesture to a chair.

"But I must have a word with you. T