His other friends, the friends devoted to his religious ideas, had slept, and were still sleeping.

The bitter thought that they no longer cared for him was pleasing to him.

It was pleasant to give himself up, for once at least, to pity for his own fate, for once to drain the cup to the dregs, to picture his fate even more painful and bitter than it really was.

All were against him, all were in league against him! Alone, alone, alone! And was he really strong at heart?
That man up there, that Minister who possessed genius and personal kindliness--what if he were right, after all?
What if Catholicism were really past healing?
Lo! the Lord Himself, the Lord he had served, the Lord who had struck down his body, and delivered him into the power of his enemies, now was abandoning his soul.

Anguish, mortal anguish! He longed to die on that very spot and to be at peace.
Above him he heard the voices of the Minister and the Under-Secretary, who were coming down.