them.

The Silent Angel looked at him, but spoke not a word; yet the
Vicar-General understood at once, knew that he was to answer at a
stern trial, and that these were his witnesses--the souls of the
people to whom he ministered, to whom he had broken the Bread of Life.
How many there were! They gladdened the Vicar-General's heart. There
were his converts, the children he had baptized, his penitents, the
pure virgins whose vows he had consecrated to God, the youths whom his
example had won to the altar. They were all there. The Vicar-General
counted them, and he could not think of a single one missing.

On the other side, witnesses began to arrive and the Vicar-General's
look of trouble returned. He felt his priestly vestments becoming
heavy. Especially did he feel the weight of the amice, which was like
a heavy iron helmet crushed down over his shoulders. The cincture was
binding him very tightly. He felt that he could scarcely move for it.
The maniple rendered his left arm almost powerless. The stole was
pulling at him, and the weight of the chasuble made him very faint.

He knew some of the witnesses, but only a few. He had seen these few
before. They were his neglected spiritual children. He remembered each
and every case. One was a missed sick-call: his had been the fault.
Another was a man driven from the church by a harsh word spoken in
anger. The Vicar-General remembered the day when he referred to this
man in his sermon and saw him arise in his pew and leave. He did not
return. Another was a priest--his own assistant. The Vicar-General had
no patience with his weaknesses. From disgust at them his feelings had
turned to rancor against the man--and the assistant was lost. The
Vicar-General trembled; for these things he had passed by as either