* * * * *

He woke again from dreamless sleep, and there was a change.  From his corner, as he raised his heavy eyes, there met them what seemed an unbearable brightness; then, as he looked, it resolved itself into a candle-flame, and beyond it a white sleeve, and higher yet a white face and throat.  He understood, and rose reeling; it was the messenger come to fetch him as had been arranged.

As he passed across the space, once he looked round him, and it seemed that the dawn must have come, for that appalling sky overhead was visible at last.  An enormous vault, smoke-coloured and opaque, seemed to curve away to the ghostly horizons on either side where the far-away hills raised sharp shapes as if cut in paper.  Carmel was before him; at least he thought it was that—­a bull head and shoulders thrusting itself forward and ending in an abrupt descent, and beyond that again the glimmering sky.  There were no clouds, no outlines to break the huge, smooth, dusky dome beneath the centre of which this house-roof seemed poised.  Across the parapet, as he glanced to the right before descending the steps, stretched Esdraelon, sad-coloured and sombre, into the metallic distance.  It was all as unreal as some fantastic picture by one who had never looked upon clear sunlight.  The silence was complete and profound.

Straight down through the wheeling shadows he went, following the white-hooded head and figure down the stairs, along the tiny passage, stumbling once against the feet of one who slept with limbs tossed loose like a tired dog; the feet drew back mechanically, and a little moan broke from the shadows.  Then he went on, passing the servant who stood aside, and entered.

There were half-a-dozen men gathered here, silent, white figures standing apart one from the other, who genuflected as the Pope came in simultaneously through the opposite door, and again stood white-faced and attentive.  He ran his eyes over them as he stopped, waiting behind his master’s chair—­there were two he knew, remembering them from last night—­dark-faced Cardinal Ruspoli, and the lean Australian Archbishop, besides Cardinal Corkran, who stood by his chair at the Pope’s own table, with papers laid ready.

Silvester sat down, and with a little gesture caused the others to sit too.  Then He began at once in that quiet tired voice that his servant knew so well.

“Eminences-we are all here, I think.  We need lose no more time, then....  Cardinal Corkran has something to communicate—–­” He turned a little.  “Father, sit down, if you please.  This will occupy a little while.”

The priest went across to the stone window-seat, whence he could watch the Pope’s face in the light of the two candles that now stood on the table between him and the Cardinal-Secretary.  Then the Cardinal began, glancing up from his papers.

“Holiness.  I had better begin a little way back.  Their Eminences have not heard the details properly....