upon the picture in his mind, and remembered his own wild prayer to
the Eternal, a great uneasiness and dread overwhelmed him.

"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,