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"Waste no time in listening to his insolence," said the president of the Court. "Clerk, set out the case." Then a black-robed man who sat beneath the judges rose and read the charge to me from a parchment.

His cowl was thrown back, revealing his pale, ascetic countenance and shaven head. Behind him came a coffin covered by a black pall, and borne on the shoulders of six black-robed, black cowled monks, and behind these again walked, two by two, some fourteen cowled brothers of the order of Saint Francis, their heads bowed, their arms folded, and their hands tucked away in their capacious sleeves.

Two slim, tall poplars stood against the gable of the chapel, and shot their tops above its roof, and under a porch near them two nuns sat motionless in the sun, black-robed, with black veils falling over their shoulders, and their white faces lost in the white linen that draped them from breast to crown.

The latter were in the clothes of white men, the Jesuit in his clerical garb. They settled into the few available places and Jim found himself sharing his seat with the black-robed missionary. All his early training had aimed to inspire him with hatred of the papist, and the climax of popery, he believed, was a Jesuit.

Then the black-robed, keen-eyed priest came to her, and holding the cross before her face, began to mutter I know not what. But she rose from the chair and thrust the crucifix aside. 'Peace! she said, 'I will not be shriven by such as you. I take my sins to God and not to you you who do murder in the name of Christ. The fanatic heard and a fury took him.

These black-robed priests were the forerunners of an army of men who, bearing the Cross instead of the sword and labouring at their arduous tasks in humility and obedience but with dauntless courage and unflagging zeal, were to make their influence felt from Hudson Bay to the Gulf of Mexico, and from the sea-girt shores of Cape Breton to the wind-swept plains of the Great West.

A day or so after we went out to those pleasant black-robed, bearded Armenians in their monastery at Saint Lazzaro, and returned towards sundown. We fell into silence. "PIU LENTO," said Margaret to the gondolier, and released my accumulated resolution. "Let us go back to London," I said abruptly. Margaret looked at me with surprised blue eyes.

There was a tableau: the aged noble stretched out beside his rapier, D'Hérouville leaning against the wall and wild-eyed . . . and a black-robed figure standing in the doorway. "Have you killed him?" asked the black-robed figure, stepping into the room. D'Hérouville gazed at him, incapable of speaking. "Have you killed him, I say?" repeated Brother Jacques.

A group of untidy children were looking at it with bright beady eyes and chattering under their breath, while a black-robed janitor was rattling his keys to make them behave. This brought back the memory of Rome and of Sister Angela.

He recalled something that he had seen when the rearing horse had inclined perilously towards the footway that protecting maternal gesture, that swift interposition of the tall, active, black-robed figure between the white-clad, flower-faced, girlish creature and those threatening iron-shod hoofs.... "She loves the girl Dick Mildare's daughter by the treacherous friend who stole him from her.

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