t another sound broke the silence of
the sleeping house. The cell beyond Paul's was empty. It was Brother
Andrew's cell, and Andrew was at the door downstairs.

When John Storm entered the dark room, candle in hand, Brother Paul was
standing in the middle of the floor with one hand outstretched and a
ghastly and appalling smile upon his face. He was pale as death, his eyes
were ablaze, his forehead was streaming with perspiration, and he was
breathing from the depths of his chest. He wiped the dews from his brow
and said in a choking voice, "He has died as he lived--a liar and a
scoundrel!"

John took him by the hand and drew him to the bed, and, putting him to
sit there, he tried to soothe and comfort him. He was terrified at first
by the sound of his own voice, but the sophism that had served to bring
him, served to support him also, and he told himself it could be no
breach of the rule of silence to speak to one who was not there. The
delirium of the lay brother spent itself at length, and he fell into a
deep sleep.

Next day, when Brother Andrew came to John's cell with the food, he began
to sing as if to himself while he bustled about the room.

"Brother Paul is sinking--he is sinking rapidly--Father Jerrold has
confessed him--he has taken the sacrament--and is very patient."

This, as if it had been a Gregorian chant, the great fellow had hit upon
as a means of communicating with John without breaking the rule and
committing sin.

John did not lock his door on the following night. On going to bed he
listened for the noises he had heard before, half fearing and yet half
wishing that he might hear them again. But he heard nothing, and toward
midnight he fell asleep. Something made him shudder, and he awoke with
the sensation of moonlight on his face. The moon was indeed shining, and
its sepulchral light was on a figure that stood by the foot of the bed.
It was Paul, with a livid face, murmuring his name in a voice almost as
faint as a breath.

John leaped up and put his arms about him.

"You are ill, brother--very ill."

"I am dying."

"Help! help!" cried John, and he made for the door.

"Hush, brother, hush!"

"Oh, I don't care for rule. Rule is nothing in a case like this. And,
besides, it is an understood thing---- Help!"

"I implore you, I conjure you!" said Paul in a voice strangled by
weakness. "Let them leave us together a little longer. It was by my own
wish that I was left alone. I have som