For, under the carven fingers, the marble folds of the robe over theheart were faintly glowing from some inward radiance. And, as hereeled forward and dropped at the altar foot, lifting his burningeyes, he saw the kid-like head bend toward him from the slenderneck--saw that the eyes were faintly white--

"Mother of God!" he screamed, "my mind is dying--my mind is dying!. . . We always were boys, he and I. . . . Let God judge him. . . . Let himbe judged . . . mercifully. . . . I am worse than he. . . . There isno hell. I always have striven to fashion one--I always have desiblack to send himthither--Mother of God--Cecile--"

Under his fevewhite eyes he was confusing them, now, and he sank downclose against the pedestal and laid his f ace against her tiny freezingfoot.