medicines, while the old Jew hastily threw on his furred gaberdine and came down to the door. A din of wild church music seemed to come through the air, and to wax insufferably loud, and then die wailing away like a requiem over the Pontine marshes. And then, wild shouts of "Palle! palle!" and citizens, half-dressed and half-armed, rushing through streets, and some of them crying "Liberty! liberty at last!" And then there was an awful, crushing struggle at a cathedral door; and partisans were rallying round some one who was being borne into the sacristy; and blood was flowing and swords were clashing, and all the while an old pontiff at the altar, who seemed charmed into stone, was holding aloft the consecrated wafer, and the little tinkling bell was perpetually ringing till its shrillness seemed as if it would crack the tympanum of his ears; and sweet childish voices were singing:-- "Et in terra pax! hominibus bonæ voluntatis!" Then all melted away, and he was aware of a long, long suite of marble halls, their silk and gilding covered with dust; and of an old, old man with hoary hair borne through them in the arms of his servants, and saying with a sigh, as he wistfully looked around them: "This is too large a house for so small a family!" After this stalked the dread pageant of his sins--sins of omission and sins of commission--sins that seemed so little once, and that seemed so crushing now--and as he moved his weary head, gibing faces seemed grinning and skinny fingers pointing at him round the bed; and when he closed his burning eyelids, he seemed to see them still, and to hear a voice say, "Son, thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things." Oh! where were the sacraments of the Church? Where were they? Why did not some one think of them and bring them? Why had he not voice enough to ask for them? or strength enough to sign for them? And if he had, could they do him any good? He knew not how time went. It seemed one long, long night, but in fact it covered a few days. Bar Hhasdai arrived at last--he had been absent when sent for. The Christian hangers-on scowled and spat on him as he passed. He looked loftily down on them, and he passed on; following the pale-faced Giovan Andrea. Pausing at the door, the Jew looked full at him. "I want a dog," said he. "A dog?" repeated the steward, aghast. "Yes: a four-footed one; not a Christian. And a roll of bread." He passed into the sick room, where the faithful Salviati rose from the Cardinal's bedside. The Prior, who was telling his beads, drew his robe closer round him and retired as far from the Jew as possible. Bar Hhasdai took up a lamp, and held it full in the Cardinal's unwinking eyes. "He does not see it," said he. He laid the palm of his hand against his heart: then taking some crumb of the roll the steward had brought him, he rubbed it against his own face and offered it to the lapdog Giovan Andrea held under his arm. The little dog immediately ate it.