“Neither now nor at any time,” answered Bonpre firmly and tenderly.  “I will go with you where you will!  Is it to some sad home you are taking me?—­some stricken soul to whom we may give comfort?”

Manuel answered not,—­but merely waved his small hand beckoningly, and passed along up the street through the drifting rain, lightly and aerially as though he were a spirit,—­and the Cardinal possessed by some strange emotion that gave swiftness to his movements and strength to his will, followed.  They met scarcely a soul.  One or two forlorn wayfarers crossed their path—­a girl in rags,—­then a man half-drunk and reeling foolishly from side to side.  Manuel paused, looking at them.

“Poor sad souls!” he said.  “If we could see all the history of their lives we should pity them and not condemn!”

“Who is it that condemns?” murmured Bonpre gently.

“No one save Man!” responded Manuel.  “God condemns nothing—­because in everything there is a portion of Himself.  And when man presumes to condemn and persecute his fellow-men, he is guilty of likewise condemning and persecuting his Maker, and outraging that Maker in his own perverted soul!”

The boy’s voice rang out solemn and clear,—­and the heavy fog drifting densely through the street, seemed to the Cardinal’s keenly awakened and perturbed senses as though it brightened into a golden vapour round that childish figure, and illumined it with a radiation of concealed light.  But having thus spoken, Manuel turned and went on once more,—­and faithfully, in a mental ravishment which to himself was inexplicable, the venerable Felix followed.  And presently they came to the plain and uncomely wooden edifice where Aubrey Leigh and his bride had plighted their vows that morning.  The door was open—­Aubrey would always have it so, lest any poor suffering creature might need a moment’s rest, and resting thankfully, might see the Cross and perchance find help in prayer.

“Do you remember,” said Manuel then, “when you found me outside the great Cathedral, how the doors were barred against me?  This door is always open!”

He entered the building, and the Cardinal followed, wondering and deeply agitated.  It should have been dark within, but instead of darkness, a soft light pervaded it from end to end, a warm and delicate radiance, coloured with a rose glory as of sunset—­and Bonpre seeing this stopped, seized with a sudden fear.  He looked about him—­on either side the huge unadorned barn-like place was empty,—­he and Manuel stood alone together as it were in the cold vast void.  Before them towered the Cross on its raised platform, and below that Cross was the sloping footway leading to it, where lay many of the buds and leaves and blossoms of Sylvie’s bridal flowers given to her by the poor, and yet—­in this empty desolate shed there was a sense of warmth and consolation, and the light that illumined it was as the light of Heaven!  Trembling in every limb, the Cardinal turned to his companion—­words were on his lips, but they faltered and refused to be spoken aloud.  And Manuel gently touching him said--