seen beneath the white hair, but
the very texture of the coarse, dead, stained stuffs that swathed the
rest of the body. Or it might have shown itself in the strain of a long
chord on strings or wind, as if the mystical union of the dedicated soul
with the ineffable Godhead and Humanity of Jesus Christ generated such a
sound as ceaselessly flows out with the river of life from beneath the
Throne of the Lamb. Or yet once more it might have declared itself under
the guise of a perfume--the very essence of distilled sweetness--such a
scent as that which, streaming out through the gross tabernacle of a
saint's body, is to those who observe it as the breath of heavenly
roses....

The moments passed in that hush of purity and peace; sounds came and
went outside, the rattle of a cart far away, the sawing of the first
cicada in the coarse grass twenty yards away beyond the wall; some one
behind the priest was breathing short and thick as under the pressure of
an intolerable emotion, and yet the figure stood there still, without a
movement or sway to break the carved motionlessness of the alb-folds or
the perfect poise of the white-shod feet. When He moved at last to
uncover the Precious Blood, to lay His hands on the altar and adore, it
was as if a statue had stirred into life; to the server it was very
nearly as a shock.

Again, when the chalice was empty, that first impression reasserted
itself; the human and the external died in the embrace of the Divine and
Invisible, and once more silence lived and glowed.... And again as the
spiritual energy sank back again into its origin, Silvester stretched
out the chalice.

With knees that shook and eyes wide in expectation, the priest rose,
adored, and went to the credence.

* * * * *

It was customary after the Pope's mass that the priest himself should
offer the Sacrifice in his presence, but to-day so soon as the vestments
had been laid one by one on the rough chest, Silvester turned to the
priest.

"Presently," he said softly. "Go up, father, at once to the roof, and
tell the Cardinal to be ready. I shall come in five minutes."

It was surely a scirocco-day, thought the priest, as he came up on to
the flat roof. Overhead, instead of the clear blue proper to that hour
of the morning, lay a pale yellow sky darkening even to brown at the
horizon. Thabor, before him, hung distant and sombre seen through the
impalpable atmosphere of sand, and across the plain, as he glanced