Cathedral. The Bishop had acquiesced in the Vicar-General's ruling.
The diocese had flourished and had grown strong. The Vicar-General had
always been its pride. He was humbled now under the gaze of the Silent
Angel, whose eyes told him wherein he had been at fault. He knew that
the fault was not in the building of the great and beautiful things,
which of themselves were good because they were for God's glory; but
rather was it in this: that he had shut out of his heart, for their
sakes, the cry of affliction and the call of pleading voices from the
near and far begging but for the crumbs which meant to them Faith here
and Life hereafter.

Now, O God! there were the red men, the brown men, the yellow men and
the black men; not to speak of these white men whose faces were so
strange; and they were going to say something--something against him.
He could guess--could well guess what it was they would say. The
Vicar-General knew that he had been wrong, and that his wrong had come
into Eternity. He doubted if it ever could be made right, for he knew
now the value of a soul even in a black body. He knew it, but was it
too late? His vestments were as heavy as lead.

Trembling in every limb, the Vicar-General looked for his Judge; but
he could not see Him. He only felt His Presence. The Silent Angel had
a book in his hand. The Vicar-General could read its title. There was
a chalice on the cover, as if it spoke of priests, and under it he
read:

THE LAW BY WHICH THEY SHALL BE JUDGED.

The Silent Angel opened the book and the Vicar-General saw that it had
but one page. Shining out from the page he read: