as on the lead flat of the tower
above their cells. John had grown accustomed to go there after Compline,
that he might look on London from that eminence and thank God that he had
escaped from its clutches. The stars were out, and the city lay like a
great monster around and beneath. Something demoniacal had entered into
his view of it. Down there was the river, winding like a serpent through
its sand, and here and there were the bridges, like the scales across it,
and farther west was the head of the great creature, just beginning to be
ablaze with lights.

"She is there," he thought, and then he was startled by a sound. Had he
uttered the words aloud? But it was some one else who had spoken. Brother
Paul was standing by the parapet with his eyes in the same direction.
When he became conscious that John was behind him he stammered something
in his confusion, and than hurried away as if he had been detected in a
crime.

"God pity him!" thought John. "If he only knew what has happened!"

Going back to his cell, he began to think of Glory. By the broken links
of memory he remembered for the first time, since coming into the
monastery, the condition of insecurity in which he had left her. How
uncertain her position at the hospital, how perilous her relations with
her friend!

The last prayer of the day for the brothers of the Gethsemane was the
prayer before the crucifix by the side of the bed: "Thanks be to God for
giving me the trials of this day!" To this he added another petition:
"And bless and protect her wheresoever she may be!"

He ceased to frequent the tower after that, and did not go up to it again
until the morning of the day on which he was to make his vows. By this
time his soul had spent itself so prodigally in prayer that he had almost
begun to regard himself as one already in another world. The morning was
clear and frosty, and he could see that something unusual was taking
place on the earth below. Traffic was stopped, the open spaces were
crowded, and processions were passing through the streets with bands of
music playing and banners flying. Then he remembered what day it was--it
was Lord Mayor's Day, the 9th of November--and once again he thought of
Glory. She would be there, for her heart was light and she loved the
world and all its scenes of gaiety and splendour.

It was the day of his final preparation, and he was under the rule of
silence, so he returned to his cell and shut the door. But he