was short, and it ended with
"May the Lord Almighty grant us a quiet night and a perfect end." There
was another stroke of the bell, and the brothers returned to the house in
silence.

John Storm walked with the Superior, and passing through the courtyard,
in the light of the moon that had risen while they were at prayers, he
was startled by the sound of something.

"Only the creaking of the sycamore," said the Father.

He had thought it was the voice of Glory, but he had been hearing her cry
throughout the service, so he dismissed the circumstance as a dream. Half
an hour later the household had retired for the night, the lights were
put out, and the Society of the Gethsemane was at rest.

John's cell was on the topmost floor, next to the quarters of the lay
brothers. There was nothing above it but a high lead flat, which was
sometimes used by the religious as watch-tower and breathing place. The
cell was a narrow room with bare floor, a small table, one chair, a
prayingstool, a crucifix, and a stump bed, having a straw pillow and a
crimson coverlet marked with a large white cross.

"Here," he thought, "my journey is at an end. This is my resting-place
for life." The mighty hand of the Church was on him and he felt a deep
peace. He was like a ship that had been tossed at sea and was lying quiet
in harbour at last.

Without was the world, the fantastic world, forever changing; within were
gentle if strict rules and customs securely fixed. Without was the
ceaseless ebb and flow of the financial tide; within were content and
sweet poverty and no disturbing fears. Without were struggle and strife
and the fever of gain; within were peace and happiness and the grand
mysteries which God reveals to the soul in solitude.

He began to pass his life in review and to think: "Well, it is all over,
at all events. I shall never leave this place. Friends who forgive me,
good-bye! And foes who are unforgiving, good-bye to you too!

"And the world--the great, vain, cruel, hypocritical world--farewell to
it also! Farewell to its pomp and its glory! Farewell to life, and
liberty, and--love----"

The wind was rustling the leaves of the tree in the courtyard, and he
could not help but hear again the voice he had heard when crossing from
the church. His eyes were closed, but Glory's face, with its curling and
twitching lip and its laughing and liquid eyes, was printed on the
darkness.

"Ave Maria," he murmured; and saying this ag