ea of dark, and
be seen but in outline by it.

The bishop's procession, long announced by the indefinable hum a great
crowd breeds, swept up the nave with a slippering of countless feet.
The bishop in purple, his canons in scarlet, his cross-bearer, his
chaplains and singing-men, the bearer of his mitre, his ring on a
cushion; after these the archdeacon and his chaplains, the clergy of the
city, heads of religious orders, representatives of the civil arm, Can
Signorio with the officers of his household; finally, the silent, eager
people, edging past each other, whispering, craning their heads to see
what there was and what there was not to be seen. So came Verona in a
multitude to the great business of Fra Battista and the rag-picker's
wife, in reality thrilling with but one thought: Madonna of the
Peach-Tree was in the city, for any waking soul to see!

After the penitential psalms, a litany, and the office appointed, the
bishop stood with his back to the altar, and spoke _urbi et orbi_ from
the text, "God, who in divers times and in divers places," etc. I cannot
do more than report the sum of his discourse, which was that, as it was
plain these late marvels had some root in the hidden ways of men's
hearts, so it behoved him as a father to lay all such ways bare. That
for himself, if he might speak as a man only, he was conscious of no sin
unpurged which the apparitions might condemn, and certainly (alas!) of
no graces of his own which they could have been designed to reward. Let
each speak for himself. If there was any man in that vast assembly
unshriven, let him confess now what his fault was; so that instant
prayer might be made to their glorious Visitant for forgiveness by
intercession. If, on the other hand, there was some Christian virtue
blossoming in secret, let them (brethren) find it speedily out, that
thanks might be given for mercies vouchsafed. It was noticed afterwards
that the death by butchery of the feudal lord was passed by without a
comment. There might have been reason for this in the circumstance that
Can Grande II. had been warned of his sin, had nevertheless set out to
commit it, and had died in the act, as it had been foretold. To discuss
all this in the hearing of Can Signorio, his successor, might have been
a task too delicate for the bishop. But I believe that the scent of the
miraculous, which was all about him, was too much for him. He could nose
out nothing beyond the line which that frag