logically.  He perceived now that, so far as reason was concerned, Christian society could not do otherwise than silence those who attacked the very foundations of its existence; and he also understood that this was completely another matter from the charge that men had been accustomed to bring against the Church, that she “would persecute if she had the power.”  For it was not the Church in any sense that used repression; it was the State that did so; and as Dom Adrian had pointed out, this was of the very essence of all civil government.  But this was not new to him.  Rather his stay in Thurles had, by quieting his nervous system, made it possible for him to elect to follow his reason rather than his feelings.  His feelings were as before.  Still in the bottom of his consciousness he felt that the Christ which he had known was other than the Christ who now reigned on earth.  But now he had been enabled to make the decision over which he had previously hesitated; he had sufficiently recovered at least so far as to go back to his work and to do what seemed to be the duty to which his reason pointed, and in action at least to ignore his feelings.  This much had been done.  He did not yet understand by what means.

* * * * *

A car waited in the little court to which the two came down.  The monk beckoned him to enter, and they moved off.

“This quarter of the monastery,” began the monk abruptly, “is entirely of the nature you have seen.  It is composed of flats and apartments throughout, for the simple retreats, such as your own.  Each Father who is employed in this kind of work has his round of visits to make each day.”

“How many monks are there altogether, Father, in Thurles?”

“About nine thousand.”

“. .  I beg your pardon?”

“About nine thousand.  Of these about six thousand live a purely Contemplative Life.  No monk undertakes any work of this kind until he has been professed at least fifteen years.  But the regulations are too intricate to explain just now.”

“Where are we going first——­”

“Stay, Monsignor” (the monk interrupted him by a hand on his arm).  “We are just entering the northern quarter.  It is the serious cases that are dealt with here.”

“Serious?”

“Yes; where there is a complete breakdown of mental powers.  That building there is the first of the block of the gravest cases of all—­real mania.”

Monsignor leaned forward to look.

They were passing noiselessly along the side of a great square; but there was nothing to distinguish the building indicated from the rest.  It just stood there, a tall pile of white stone; and the top of a campanile rose above it.

“You have worked there, Father?”

“I worked there for two years,” said the monk tranquilly.  “It is distressing work at first.  Would you care to look in?”

Monsignor shook his head.

“Yes, it is distressing work, but there are great consolations.  Two out of every three cases at least are cured, and we have a certain number of vocations from the patients.”