“I envy you the consolation such a thought must give,” responded the Cardinal, as he resumed his seat opposite his visitor—­“I, on the contrary, have the pained and bitter sense that we are to blame for all this ‘multitude of the lost,’ or at any rate that we could have done more in the way of rescue than we have done.”  He paused a moment, passing one hand across his forehead wearily.  “In truth this is what has for a long time weighed upon my mind, and depressed my spirits even to the detriment of bodily health.  I am nearing the grave, and must soon give an account of my stewardship;—­and the knowledge of the increasing growth of evil in the world is almost more than I can bear.”

“But you are not to blame,” said the Archbishop wonderingly,—­“In your own diocese you have fulfilled your duty; more than this is not expected of you.  You have done your best for the people you serve,—­ and reports of your charities and good works are not lacking—­”

“Do not credit such reports,” interrupted the Cardinal, almost sternly,—­“I have done nothing—­absolutely nothing!  My life has been too peaceful,—­too many undeserved blessings have been bestowed upon me.  I much fear that the calm and quiet of my days have rendered me selfish.  I think I should long ago have sought some means of engaging in more active duties.  I feel as if I should have gone into the thick of the religious contest, and spoken and fought, and helped the sick and wounded of the mental battle,—­but now—­now it is too late!”

“Nothing is too late for one in your position,” said the Archbishop--"You may yet sit in St. Peter’s chair!”

“God forbid!” ejaculated Bonpre fervently—­“I would rather die!  I have never wished to rule,—­I have only sought to help and to comfort.  But sixty-eight years of life weigh heavily on the faculties,—­I cannot wear the sword and buckler of energetic manhood.  I am old—­old!—­and to a certain extent, incapacitated for useful labour.  Hence I almost grudge my halcyon time spent among simple folk,—­time made sweet by all the surroundings of Nature’s pastoral loveliness;—­the sorrow of the wider world knocks at my heart and makes it ache!  I feel that I am one of those who stand by, idly watching the Master’s second death without one word of protest!”

The archbishop listened in silence.  There was a curious shamed look upon his face, as if some secret sin within himself had suddenly been laid bare in all its vileness to the light of day.  The golden crucifix he wore moved restlessly with a certain agitated quickness in his breathing, and he did not raise his eyes, when, after a little pause, he said—­

“I tell you, as I told you before, that you think too much; you are altogether too sensitive.  I admit that at the present day the world is full of terrible heresies and open blasphemy, but this is part of what we are always bound to expect,—­we are told that we must ‘suffer for righteousness’ sake—­’”