The Silent Angel looked at him, but spoke not a word; yet the Vicar-General understood at once, knew that he was to answer at a stern trial, and that these were his witnesses—­the souls of the people to whom he ministered, to whom he had broken the Bread of Life.  How many there were!  They gladdened the Vicar-General’s heart.  There were his converts, the children he had baptized, his penitents, the pure virgins whose vows he had consecrated to God, the youths whom his example had won to the altar.  They were all there.  The Vicar-General counted them, and he could not think of a single one missing.

On the other side, witnesses began to arrive and the Vicar-General’s look of trouble returned.  He felt his priestly vestments becoming heavy.  Especially did he feel the weight of the amice, which was like a heavy iron helmet crushed down over his shoulders.  The cincture was binding him very tightly.  He felt that he could scarcely move for it.  The maniple rendered his left arm almost powerless.  The stole was pulling at him, and the weight of the chasuble made him very faint.

He knew some of the witnesses, but only a few.  He had seen these few before.  They were his neglected spiritual children.  He remembered each and every case.  One was a missed sick-call:  his had been the fault.  Another was a man driven from the church by a harsh word spoken in anger.  The Vicar-General remembered the day when he referred to this man in his sermon and saw him arise in his pew and leave.  He did not return.  Another was a priest—­his own assistant.  The Vicar-General had no patience with his weaknesses.  From disgust at them his feelings had turned to rancor against the man—­and the assistant was lost.  The Vicar-General trembled; for these things he had passed by as either justified by reason of the severity necessary to his office, or as wiped out by his virtues—­and he had many virtues.

The Vicar-General’s eyes sought those of the Silent Angel, and he lost some of his fear, while the weight of his vestments became a little lighter.  But the Silent Angel’s gaze caused the Vicar-General again to look at the witnesses.  Those against him were increasing.  The faces of the new-comers he did not know.  The Vicar-General felt like protesting that there must be some mistake, for the new-comers were red men, brown men, yellow men and black men, besides white men whose faces were altogether strange.  He was sure none of these had ever been in his parish.  The new-comers were dressed in the garbs of every nation under the sun.  They all alike looked very sternly at the Vicar-General, so that he could not bear their glances.  Still he could not understand how he had ever offended against them, nor could he surmise why they should be witnesses to his hurt.

The Silent Angel still stood beside the Vicar-General; but the troubled soul of the priest could find no enlightenment in his eyes.  All the while witnesses kept arriving and the multitude of them filled him with a great terror.