“If He came again,” pursued Manuel, still in the same soft, even voice, “how do you think He would come?”

“‘Watch ye therefore for ye know not when He cometh,’” murmured the Cardinal,—­” My dear child, I think if He came again it would be perhaps in the disguise of one who is poor and friendless ’despised and rejected of men,’ as when He first glorified the earth by His presence; and I fear that in such plight He would find Himself, as before, unwelcome.”

Manuel made no reply just then, as they had arrived at home.  The servant who admitted them told them that Donna Sovrani had a visitor in her studio,—­so that the Cardinal and his young attendant went straight to their own apartments.

“Read to me, Manuel,” then said Bonpre, seating himself near the window, and looking out dreamily on the rich foliage of the woods and grassy slopes that stretched before him, “Find something in the Gospels that will fit what we have seen to-day.  I am tired of all these temples and churches!—­these gorgeous tombs and reliquaries; they represent penances and thank-offerings no doubt, but to me they seem useless.  A church should not be a shrine for worldly stuff, unless indeed such things are used again for the relief of poverty and suffering; but they are not used; they are simply kept under lock and key and allowed to accumulate,—­while human creatures dwelling perhaps quite close to these shrines, are allowed to die of starvation.  Did you think this when you spoke to the priest who was offended with you to-day?”

“Yes, I thought it,” replied Manuel gently, “But then he said I was a heretic.  When one loves God better than the Church is one called a heretic?”

Cardinal Bonpre looked earnestly at the boy’s inspired face,—­the face of a dreaming angel in its deep earnestness.

“If so, then I am heretic,” he answered slowly, “I love the Creator as made manifest to me in His works,—­I love Him in every flower which I am privileged to look upon,—­I find Him in every art and science,—­I worship Him in a temple not made with hands,—­His own majestic Universe!  Above all churches,—­above all formulated creeds and systems I love Him!  And as declared in the divine humanity of Christ I believe in, and adore Him!  If this makes me unworthy to be His priest and servant then I confess my unworthiness!”

He had spoken these words more to himself than Manuel, and in his fervour had closed his eyes and clasped his hands,—­and he almost fancied that a soft touch, light as a falling rose-leaf, had for a second rested on his brow.  He looked up quickly, wondering whether it was Manuel who had so touched him,—­the boy was certainly near him,—­but was already seated with the Testament open ready to read as requested.  The Cardinal raised himself in his chair,—­a sense of lightness, and freedom, and ease, possessed him,—­the hopeless and tired feeling which had a few minutes since weighed him down with an undefinable languor was gone,—­and his voice had gained new strength and energy when he once more spoke.