A convulsive trembling seized the Cardinal’s mortal frame—­but the soul within him was strong and invincible.  With hands outstretched he turned to Manuel,—­and lo!—­the boy was moving away from him—­ moving slowly but resolutely up towards the Cross!  Breathless, speechless, the aged Felix watched him with straining uplifted eyes,—­and as he watched, saw his garments grow white and glistening, and a great light began to shine about him—­till reaching the foot of the Cross He turned,—­and then—­He was no more a child!  All the glory of the “Vision Beautiful” shone full upon the dying body and escaping soul of Christ’s faithful servant!—­the Divine Head crowned with thorns!—­the Divine arms stretched out against the beams of the great Cross!—­the Divine look of love and welcome!—­and with a loud cry of ecstasy Felix Bonpre extended his trembling hands.

“Master!  Master!” he murmured.  “Did not my heart burn within me when Thou didst talk with me by the way!”

Yearning towards that Mystic Glory he clasped his hands, and in the splendour of the dream, and through the pulsations of the solemn music he heard a Voice—­the Voice of his child companion Manuel, but a Voice grown full of Divine authority while yet possessing all human tenderness.

“Well done, thou good and faithful servant!  Because thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things!  Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!”

And at that Voice—­and in the inexplicable beauty of that Look of Love, Felix Bonpre, “Prince of the Roman Church,” whose faithfulness Rome called in question, gave up his mortal life,—­and with a trembling sigh of death and delight intermingled, fell face forward at the foot of the Cross, where the radiance of his Master’s Presence shone like the sun in heaven!  And as he passed from death to life, the Vision faded—­the light grew dim,—­the arches of the heavenly temple not made with hands melted away and rolled up like clouds of the night dispersing into space—­the last dazzling Angel face, the last branch of Heavenly flowers—­vanished—­and the music of the spheres died into silence.  And when the morning sun shone through the narrow windows of that Place of Prayer dedicated only to the poor, its wintry beams encircled the peaceful form of the Dead Cardinal with a pale halo of gold,—­and when they came and found him there and turned his face to the light—­it was as the face of a glorified saint, whom God had greatly loved!

. . . . . . . . . .

And of the “Cardinal’s foundling”—­what of Him?  Many wondered and sought to trace Him, but no one ever heard where He had gone.  Now,—­ when the Cardinal himself has been laid to rest in the shadow of his own Cathedral spires—­and the roses which he loved so well are growing into a crimson and white canopy over his quiet grave, there are those who wonder who that lonely child wanderer was,—­and whether He ever will return?