CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXV
Father Barry's late interview with his bishop had been short, devoid ofcontroversy. Too angry to deny the convenient charge of "modernism," hesought the street. Personal appeal seemed futile to the young priestcast down by the will of a superior. To escape from holy, overheatedapartments had been his one impulse. Facing a January blizzard, hispower to think consecutively returned, while for a moment he faltered,inclined to go back. The icy air struck him full in the face as hestaggered forward. "The only way—and one practically hopeless," hechoked. Appeal to the archbishop absorbed his mind as he pressed on,weighing uncertain odds of ecclesiastical favor. Suddenly he realizedthat he had strayed from main thoroughfares, was standing on a desolatebluff that rose significantly above colorless bottom lands and twofrozen rivers. Wind sharpened to steel, with miles of ceaselessshifting, slashed his cheeks, cut into his full temples, his eyes. Hebowed before the gust so passionately charged with