[Illustration: "The Bishop himself stood in cope and mitre to give the
last absolution."]

The Bishop had loved the Vicar-General--had loved him as a brother.
For was it not the Vicar-General who had bidden His Lordship welcome,
when he came from his distant parish to take up the cares of a
diocese. With all the timidity of a stranger, the Bishop had feared;
but the Vicar-General guided his steps safely and well. Now the
Bishop, gazing at the white, venerable face, remembered--and wept. In
the midst of the Absolution, his voice broke. Priests bit their lips,
as their eyes filled with hot tears; but the Sisters who taught in the
parochial school and their little charges, did not attempt to keep
back their sobs. For others than the Bishop loved the Vicar-General.

There was one standing by the coffin, whom neither the Bishop, priests
nor people saw. It was the Vicar-General, himself. He still wore his
priestly vestments. Was he not a priest forever? His arms were folded
and his face was troubled. He knew every one present; but none of them
knew that he was so near. He scanned the lines of the Bishop's face
and seemed to wonder at his tears. He was quite unmoved by the sorrow
around him, did not seem to care at all. Yet in life the Vicar-General
had cared much about the feelings of others toward him. His eyes
wandered over the great congregation and rested on the children, but
without tenderness in them. This, too, was very unlike the
Vicar-General. Then the eyes came back and rested on the priestly form
in the coffin, and the trouble of them increased.

The Absolution was over and the coffin was closed when the
Vicar-General looked up again, and knew that Another Unseen besides
himself was present. The Other was looking over the coffin at the