At last he saw a face amongst the strangers which he thought familiar, and he began to understand.  It was the face of a priest he had known, who had been in the same diocese, somewhat under the Vicar-General’s authority.  On earth this priest had been one of the quiet kind, without ambition except to serve in a very humble way.  He had always been in a parish so poor and small, that the priest himself had in his manner, his bearing, even his clothes, reflected its humility and its poverty.  The Vicar-General remembered that the priest had once come to him as a matter of conscience to say that, while he was not complaining, nevertheless he really needed help and counsel.  He said that his scattered flock was being lost for the want of things which could not be supplied out of its poverty.  He told the Vicar-General what was needed.  The Vicar-General remembered that he had agreed with him; but had informed him very gently that it was the policy of the diocese to let each parish maintain and support itself.  The Vicar-General had felt justified in refusing his aid, especially since, at that time, he was collecting for a new organ for his own church, one with three banks of keys—­the old one had but two.  The Vicar-General now knew that his slight feeling of worry at the time was not groundless; but while then he had felt vaguely that he was wrong in his position, now he was certain of error.  His eyes sought all through his own witnesses, but they found no likelihood of a testimony in his favor based on the purchase of that grand organ.  Then it all came to the Vicar-General, from the eyes of the Silent Angel, that he had received on earth all the reward that was due to him for it.

The presence of the men of all colors and of strange garbs was still a mystery to the Vicar-General; but at last he saw among them a bent old priest with a long beard and a crucifix in his girdle.  At once the Vicar-General recognized him and his heart sank.  Too well he remembered the poor missionary who had begged for assistance:  money, a letter, a recommendation—­anything; and had faced the inflexible official for half an hour during his pleading.  The Vicar-General had felt at that time, as he felt when his poor diocesan brother had come to him, that there was so much to be done at home, absolutely nothing could be sent out.  There was the Orphanage which the Bishop was building and they were just beginning to gather funds for a new Cathedral.  The Bishop had acquiesced in the Vicar-General’s ruling.  The diocese had flourished and had grown strong.  The Vicar-General had always been its pride.  He was humbled now under the gaze of the Silent Angel, whose eyes told him wherein he had been at fault.  He knew that the fault was not in the building of the great and beautiful things, which of themselves were good because they were for God’s glory; but rather was it in this:  that he had shut out of his heart, for their sakes, the cry of affliction and the call of pleading voices from the near and far begging but for the crumbs which meant to them Faith here and Life hereafter.