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 Along the Cloister do Silencio. There paced Fonseca, solitary guest To catch the final crumbs, the laughter, far Adown the stream, of lutes that mourned his feast, When lo! a billet in his path!—"Awake,—" He read,—"at Constance 'twas decreed. Thy voice Hath mocked the very words of Holy Church."— No more,—yet in foreboding he made haste To find his taper,—fumbled through the stacks In dust and chill,—unclasped the folio Liber Conciliorum,—saw his doom— Perchance the rack and Secret Prisons—writ Upon the parchment!—Silence, mocking lutes! Come, rain! come, whirlwind, blot the lanterns out: Now knew he their insidious subterfuge— The slippery Pharisees—to undermine Coimbra's last bright paragon,—they claimed Another victim!—But his rage gave way To grief; his scorn was all to blame; no scheme Was theirs; Suarez spoke the Council's words As duty bound him,—With the break of day Came self-renouncement to Egidio; And in amaze to greet his ashen face The sacristan laid out for him the alb And chasuble of Requiem; resigned, Like some bowed reed the storm has swept by night, He took the chalice, veiled it 'gainst his breast, And 'mid the first faint glimmer down the nave Crept forth unto his mystic Calvary.