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conducive to spiritual growth. But in the case of the specially gifted—in your case, William—we have special obligations. It is our opportunity to rise above the knowledge that the means we use to spread the Message are physical illusions. When the doubts are keen, that requires a superior faith. It demands a spirit that can recognize the imperfection of the means and yet believe in the higher truth which lies beyond means. It is your challenge, William, as it once was mine, to see and yet believe, to have your eyes not partly but fully opened, so that the truth of God can enter naked and pure. If you can do that, William, believe me, the rewards will be great—greater than you can now imagine."
    I sank to my knees, trembling, to kiss the hem of his coarse, gray robe. "I can, Father. I can."
    "Bless you, my son," the Abbot said huskily, and he traced in the air the mystic circle.
    Purified, inspired, I started to rise and then—horribly, disastrously—memory returned and the glow of inspiration cooled. Into my spiritual world came two small, white feet; my world of peace and exaltation crumbled at their touch. Save my faith ! I trembled again, but this time it was not with spiritual passion. Preserve that moment of innocence and power, of knowledge and exaltation ! My face paled; my forehead became beaded with sweat. Let me not doubt !
    "Father," I said, and my voice, as I heard it distantly, was dull and flat with remembered evil, "this afternoon—in the Cathedral—a girl entered—"
    "Was she beautiful?" the Abbot asked gently.
    "Yes, Father."
    "We are forbidden the pleasures of the flesh, William, because our spirits are so weak. But, when we are young, a sigh or two may be a sin, but I think it is not a serious one. The Archbishop himself—"
    "The girl was terrified—"
    "Terrified?"
    "It was the first time I had seen a member of the nobility so close—"
    "Patrician—and terrified," the Abbot repeated, leaning forward in his chair. With a conscious effort he relaxed again. "Go on, William."
    "Men followed her"—my voice was still dead—"four of them. They waited for her in the street, beyond the Barrier. Mercenaries, without uniforms. It was they whom she feared."
    "Free agents—Go on."
    "They waited for her to come out, to grow tired of the Cathedral's temporary sanctuary. Before the end of the service she came to the front and dropped an offering on the plate and left the Cathedral. She stepped through the Barrier into their hands, and they cut off her feet."
    The Abbot nodded gravely, unsurprised. "It is often done, I understand; for psychological as well as practical reasons."
    I went on, unheeding. My voice had come alive, but the life was remembered horror through which I groped for words. "They smiled while they did it. How can there be such evil in the world? They smiled, and no one cared, and they cut off her feet."
    "No doubt she had committed some crime."
    "Crime!" I said, lifting my head. "What crime could she have committed?"
    The Abbot sighed. "Many things are considered crimes by the Barons or the Emperor—"
    "What crime," I went on, "could justify such mutilation? They couldn't be sure she was guilty. They hadn't brought her to trial. They hadn't let her speak in her own defense. If they did this now, what will happen to her later?"
    "In the temporal world," the Abbot said sadly, "justice is stern and seldom tempered with mercy. If a man steals, his hand is cut off. Many minor crimes are punishable by death. But it is likely that the girl was accused of treason."
    "The miracles are illusions," I said bitterly, "but these things are real. Pain, hunger, violence, injustice, brutality. Only here in the monastery is there safety and shelter. And I am hiding from the world."
    "That isn't pity," the Abbot said sternly, "that is a perversion, and close to heresy. Stamp it out, my son! Harry it from your mind with the scourge of faith! Here on Brancusi, God has given temporal power to the Barons and