“And he gave you no cause for this feeling? You do not accuse him of having neglected the mission intrusted to him?” “No, father; he has worked bravely and devotedly; he is a true patriot and has deserved nothing but love and respect from me.” Father Cardi pondered. “My son, if there is within you a new light, a dream of some great work to be accomplished for your fellow-men, a hope that shall lighten the burdens of the weary and oppressed, take heed how you deal with the most precious blessing of God. All good things are of His giving; and of His giving is the new birth. If you have found the way of sacrifice, the way that leads to peace; if you have joined with loving comrades to bring deliverance to them that weep and mourn in secret; then see to it that your soul be free from envy and passion and your heart as an altar where the sacred fire burns eternally. Remember that this is a high and holy thing, and that the heart which would receive it must be purified from every selfish thought. This vocation is as the vocation of a priest; it is not for the love of a woman, nor for the moment of a fleeting passion; it is FOR GOD AND THE PEOPLE; it is NOW AND FOREVER.” “Ah!” Arthur started and clasped his hands; he had almost burst out sobbing at the motto. “Father, you give us the sanction of the Church! Christ is on our side----” “My son,” the priest answered solemnly, “Christ drove the moneychangers out of the Temple, for His House shall be called a House of Prayer, and they had made it a den of thieves.” After a long silence, Arthur whispered tremulously: “And Italy shall be His Temple when they are driven out----” He stopped; and the soft answer came back: “'The earth and the fulness thereof are mine, saith the Lord.'” CHAPTER V. THAT afternoon Arthur felt the need of a long walk. He intrusted his luggage to a fellow-student and went to Leghorn on foot. The day was damp and cloudy, but not cold; and the low, level country seemed to him fairer than he had ever known it to look before. He had a sense of delight in the soft elasticity of the wet grass under his feet and in the shy, wondering eyes of the wild spring flowers by the roadside. In a thorn-acacia bush at the edge of a little strip of wood a bird was building a nest, and flew up as he passed with a startled cry and a quick fluttering of brown wings.