s to be seen around the gate, but such a crowd as the
youths had never dreamed of before. Wretched, plague-stricken people,
turned from their own doors and abandoned by their kindred, had dragged
themselves from all parts to the doors of the Monastery, in the hope
that the pious Brothers would give them help and a corner to die in
peace. And that they were not disappointed in this hope was well seen:
for as Raymond and his companion appeared, they saw that one after
another of these wretched beings was carried within the precincts of the
Monastery by the Brothers; whilst amongst those who lay outside waiting
their turn for admission, or too far gone to be moved again, a tall thin
form moved fearlessly, bending over the dying sufferers and hearing
their last confessions, giving priestly absolution, or soothing with
strong and tender hands the last agonies of some stricken creature.

Raymond, with a strange, tense look upon his face, went straight to the
Father where he stood amongst the dying and the dead, and just as he
reached his side the Monk stood suddenly up and looked straight at him.
His austere face did not relax, but in his eyes shone a light that
looked like triumph.

"It is well, my son," he said. "I knew that thou wouldest be here anon.
The soldier of the Cross is ever found at his post in such a time as this."

CHAPTER XVIII. WITH FATHER PAUL.

All that evening and far into the night Raymond worked with the Brothers
under Father Paul, bringing in the sick, burying the dead, and tending
all those for whom anything could be done to mitigate their sufferings,
or bring peace either of body or mind.

By nightfall the ghastly assemblage about the Monastery doors had
disappeared. The living were lying in rows in the narrow beds, or upon
the straw pallets of the Brothers, filling dormitories and Refectory
alike; the dead had been laid side by side in a deep trench which had
been hastily dug by order of Father Paul; and after he had read over
them the burial service, earth and lime had been heaped upon the bodies,
and one end of the long trench filled in. Before morning there were a
score more corpses to carry forth, and out of the thirty and odd
stricken souls who lay within the walls, probably scarce ten would
recover from the malady.

But no more of the sick appeared round and about the Monastery gates as
they had been doing for the past three days; and when Raymond asked why
this was so, Father P