“God’s laws can never be altered;” he said aloud—­“Every evil deed brings its own punishment; and if the world’s wickedness becomes too great an offence in the eyes of the Almighty, it follows that the world must be destroyed.  What am I that I should pray against Divine Justice!  For truly we have had our chance of rescue and salvation;—­ the Way,—­the Truth,—­and the Life have been given to us through Christ our Redeemer; and if we reject Him, we reject all, and we have but ourselves to blame.”

At that moment a plaintive wailing, as of some human creature in distress broke on his ears through the deep silence of the night.  He listened attentively, and the sorrowful sound was repeated,—­a desolate yet gentle cry as of some sick and suffering child.  Moved by a sudden impulse the Cardinal rose, and going to the window looked anxiously out, and down into the street below.  Not a living creature was to be seen.  The moonlight spread itself in a vast silver glory over the whole width of the square, and the delicate sculpture of the great rose-window of the Cathedral, centrally suspended between the two tall towers, looked in the fine pale radiance like a giant spider’s web sparkling with fairy dew.  Again—­ again!—­that weary sobbing cry!  It went to the Cardinal’s heart, and stirred him to singular pain and pity.

“Surely it is some lost or starving creature,” he said—­“Some poor soul seeking comfort in a comfortless world.”  Hastily throwing on his garments he left his room, treading cautiously in order not to disturb the sleeping household,—­and feeling his way down the short, dark staircase, he easily reached the door and passed noiselessly out into the square.  Walking a few steps hurriedly he paused, once more listening.  The night was intensely calm;—­not a cloud crossed the star-spangled violet dome of air wherein the moon soared serenely, bathing all visible things in a crystalline brilliancy so pure and penetrative, that the finest cuttings on the gigantic grey facade of Notre Dame could be discerned and outlined as distinctly as though every little portion were seen through a magnifying glass.  The Cardinal’s tall attenuated figure, standing alone and almost in the centre of the square, cast a long thin black shadow on the glistening grey stones,—­and his dream-impression of an empty world came back forcibly upon him,—­a world as empty as a hollow shell!  Houses there were around him, and streets, and a noble edifice consecrated to the worship of God,—­nevertheless there was a sense of absolute desertion in and through all.  Was not the Cathedral itself the mere husk of a religion?  The seed had dropped out and sunk into the soil,—­“among thorns” and “stony places” indeed,—­and some “by the wayside” to be devoured by birds of prey.  Darker and heavier grew the cloud of depression on the Cardinal’s soul,—­and more and more passionate became the protest which had for a long time been clamouring in him for utterance,—­the protest of a Churchman against the Church he served!  It was terrible,—­and to a “prince of the Roman Church” hideous and unnatural; nevertheless the protest existed, and it had in some unaccountable way grown to be more a part of him than he himself realized.