The Papal chair borne on the shoulders of the guards is now but a few feet distant; vaguely she wonders that the old man keeps his balance, as he clings with one frail hand to the arm of the chair, rises incessantly--and blesses with the other.

She catches the very look and meaning of the eyes--the sharp long line of the closed and toothless jaw.

Spirit and spectre;--embodying the Past, bearing the clue to the Future.
'_Yeux de police!_'-- laughed Reggie Brooklyn to Mrs.Burgoyne as the procession passed--'don't you know ?--that's what they say.' Manisty bent forward.

The flush of excitement was still on his cheek, but he threw a little nod to Brooklyn, whose gibe amused him.
Lucy drew a long breath--and the spell was broken.
* * * * * Nor was it again renewed, in the same way.

The Pope and his cortege disappeared behind the Confession, behind the High Altar, and presently, Lucy, craning her neck to the right, could see dimly in the furthest distance, against the apse, and under the chair of St.Peter, the chair of Leo XIII.