once more pinched the two large folds of the veil together, and laid
upon it the burse containing the corporal. His whole being was now one
act of ardent thanksgiving. He besought from Heaven the forgiveness of
his sins, the grace of a holy life, and the reward of everlasting
life. He remained as if overwhelmed by this miracle of love, the
ever-recurring immolation, which sustained him day by day with the blood
and flesh of his Savior.

Having read the final prayers, he turned and said: '_Ite, missa est_.'

'_Deo gratias_,' answered Vincent.

And having turned back to kiss the altar, the priest faced round anew,
his left hand just below his breast, his right outstretched whilst
blessing the church, which the gladsome sunbeams and noisy sparrows
filled.

'_Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus_.'

'_Amen_,' said the server, as he crossed himself.

The sun had risen higher, and the sparrows were growing bolder. While
the priest read from the left-hand altar-card the passage of the Gospel
of St. John, announcing the eternity of the Word, the sunrays set the
altar ablaze, whitened the panels of imitation marble, and dimmed the
flame of the two candles, whose short wicks were now merely two dull
spots. The victorious orb enveloped with his glory the crucifix, the
candlesticks, the chasuble, the veil of the chalice--all the gold work
that paled beneath his beams. And when at last the priest, after taking
the chalice in his hands and making a genuflexion, covered his head and