ur accounts with Heaven, should they be ever so weighty."

"I trust so, my lord," replied Paslew; "but a whole life is scarcely
long enough for repentance, much less a few short hours. But in regard
to the confessor," he continued, filled with misgiving by the earl's
manner, "I should be glad to be shriven by Father Christopher Smith,
late prior of the abbey."

"It may not be," replied the earl, sternly and decidedly. "You will find
all you can require in him I shall send."

The abbot sighed, seeing that remonstrance was useless.

"One further question I would address to you, my lord," he said, "and
that refers to the place of my interment. Beneath our feet lie buried
all my predecessors--Abbots of Whalley. Here lies John Eccles, for whom
was carved the stall in which your lordship hath sat, and from which I
have been dethroned. Here rests the learned John Lyndelay, fifth abbot;
and beside him his immediate predecessor, Robert de Topcliffe, who, two
hundred and thirty years ago, on the festival of Saint Gregory, our
canonised abbot, commenced the erection of the sacred edifice above us.
At that epoch were here enshrined the remains of the saintly Gregory,
and here were also brought the bodies of Helias de Workesley and John de
Belfield, both prelates of piety and wisdom. You may read the names
where you stand, my lord. You may count the graves of all the abbots.
They are sixteen in number. There is one grave yet unoccupied--one stone
yet unfurnished with an effigy in brass."

"Well!" said the Earl of Derby.

"When I sat in that stall, my lord," pursued Paslew, pointing to the
abbot's chair; "when I was head of this church, it was my thought to
rest here among my brother abbots."

"You have forfeited the right," replied the earl, sternly. "All the
abbots, whose dust is crumbling beneath us, died in the odour of
sanctity; loyal to their sovereigns, and true to their country, whereas
you will die an attainted felon and rebel. You can have no place amongst
them. Concern not yourself further in the matter. I will find a fitting
grave for you,--perchance at the foot of the gallows."

And, turning abruptly away, he gave the signal for general departure.

Ere the clock in the church tower had tolled one, the lights were
extinguished, and of the priestly train who had recently thronged the
fane, all were gone, like a troop of ghosts evoked at midnight by
necromantic skill, and then suddenly dismissed. Deep silence again