seeing him go about on his errands of encouragement, and probably had never realized how much the daily sight of him had touched them.  The priestly dress, which may once have provoked a sneer at his effeminacy, had now a suggestion of refinement, of unselfish devotion, of consecration to the service of the unfortunate, his spiritual face appealed to their better natures, and the visible heroism that carried his frail figure through labors that would have worn out the stoutest physique stirred in the hearts of the rudest some comprehension of the reality of the spirit.

It may not have occurred to them that he was of finer clay than they —­perhaps he was not—­but his presence was in their minds a subtle connection and not a condescending one, rather a confession of brotherhood, with another world and another view of life.  They may not have known that their hearts were stirred because he had the gift of sympathy.

And was it an unmanly trait that he evoked in men that sentiment of chivalry which is never wanting in the roughest community for a pure woman?  Wherever Father Damon went there was respect for his purity and his unselfishness, even among those who would have been shamefaced if surprised in any exhibition of softness.

And many loved him, and many depended on him.  Perhaps those who most depended on him were the least worthy, and those who loved him most were least inclined to sacrifice their own reasonable view of life to his own sublimated spiritual conception.  It was the spirit of the man they loved, and not the creed of the priest.  The little chapel in its subdued lights and shadows, with confessionals and crosses and candles and incense, was as restful a refuge as ever to the tired and the dependent; but wanting his inspiring face and voice, it was not the same thing, and the attendance always fell away when he was absent.  There was needed there more than elsewhere the living presence.

He was missed, and the little world that missed him was astray.  The first day of his return his heart was smitten by the thinness of the congregation.  Had he, then, accomplished nothing; had he made no impression, established in his shifting flock no habit of continuance in well-doing that could survive even his temporary withdrawal?  The fault must be his.  He had not sufficiently humiliated and consecrated himself, and put under all strength of the flesh and trust in worldly instrumentalities.  There must be more prayer, more vigils, more fasting, before the power would come back to him to draw these wandering minds to the light.  And so in the heat of this exhausting August, at the time when his body most needed re-enforcement for the toil he required of it, he was more rigid in his spiritual tyranny and contempt of it.