“Truth is judged as libel nowadays in the world,” answered the Cardinal, “And we have to confront the fact that we have incurred the displeasure, and have also invited the vengeance of the Sovereign Pontiff.  Thus we must expect to suffer.”

“Then he who is called the visible Head of Christianity objects to the truth, and is capable of vengeance!” said Manuel, “That is a strange contradiction!  But I will suffer whatever he pleases to inflict upon me.  You shall suffer nothing!”

The Cardinal smiled gravely.

“My child, I am old, and whatever trouble is in store for me cannot last long.  But I must guard you from harm with all the remaining powers of my life.  Having constituted myself your protector and defender, I must continue to protect and defend.  And so, Manuel, tomorrow or the next day I shall take you away to England.  So far, at least, I will defy the powers of Rome!”

His eyes flashed, and his whole person seemed to be invested with sudden strength, dignity and command.  He pointed to the crucifix on the table before him.

“He, the Holy One of the Heavens, was crucified for speaking the truth,—­I can do no better than follow His divine example!  If my soul is stretched on the crossbeams of injustice—­if every tender emotion of my heart is tortured and slain—­if I am stripped of honour and exposed to contempt, what matter!  My glorious Master suffered likewise.”

Manuel was silent.  He stood near the great chimney where the wood fire burned and crackled, casting a ruddy glow through the room.  After a few minutes he turned his fair head towards the Cardinal with an earnest, scrutinising gaze in his expressive eyes.

“Then, dear friend, you are not angry?  You do not reproach me for what I have done?”

“Reproach you?  I reproach no one!” said Bonpre,—­“Least of all, a child!  For you speak unconsciously—­as genius speaks;—­you cannot weigh the meaning of your words, or the effect of what you say on the worldly or callous minds which have learned to balance motives and meanings before coining them into more or less ambiguous language.  No!—­I have nothing to reproach you with, Manuel,—­I am thankful to have you by my side!”

His eyes rested again upon the crucifix for a moment, and he went on, more to himself than to the boy,—­

“In the early days of our Lord, He spoke to the wise men in the Temple, and they were ‘astonished at his understanding and answers.’  But they did not reprove Him,—­not then,—­on the contrary, they listened.  How often in our own days do young children ask us questions to which we cannot reply, and which they themselves perchance could easily answer if they but knew how to clothe their thoughts with speech!  For the Spirit of God is made manifest in many ways, and through many methods;—­sometimes it whispers a hint or a warning to us in the petals of the rose, sometimes in the radiance of the sunset on the sea, sometimes in the simple talk of a child younger even than you are,—­’Except ye become as little children—!”