d with misery; but Chris saw him grip the bosses of his
chair-arms in an effort for self-control. His own heart began to sicken;
this was not frightened raving such as he had listened to before; it was
the speech of one who had been driven into decision, as a rat into a
corner.

"I have talked with the Sub-Prior, and others; and they think with me in
this. I have kept it back from the rest, that they might serve God in
peace so long as was possible. But now I must tell you all, my sons,
that we must leave this place."

There was a hush of terrible tension. The monks had known that they were
threatened; they could not think otherwise with the news that came from
all parts, but they had not known that catastrophe was so imminent. An
old monk opposite Chris began to moan and mutter; but the Prior went on
immediately.

"At least I think that we must leave. It may be otherwise, if God has
pity on us; I do not know; but we must be ready to leave, if it be His
will, and,--and to say so."

He was speaking in abrupt sentences, with pauses between, in which he
appeared to summon his resolution to speak again, and force out his
tale. There was plainly more behind too; and his ill-ease seemed to
deepen on him.

"I wish no one to speak now," he said, "Instead of the Lady-mass
to-morrow we shall sing mass of the Holy Ghost; and afterwards I shall
have more to say to you again. I do not desire any to hold speech with
any other, but to look into their own hearts and seek counsel of God
there."

He still sat a moment silent, then rose and gave the signal.

* * * * *

It was a strange day for Chris. He did not know what to think, but he
was certain that they had not yet been told all. The Prior's silences
had been as pregnant as his words. There was something very close now
that would be revealed immediately, and meanwhile he must think out how
to meet it.

The atmosphere seemed charged all day; the very buildings wore a strange
air, unfamiliar and menacing. The intimate bond between his soul and
them, knit by associations of prayer and effort, appeared unreal and
flimsy. He was tormented by doubtfulness; he could not understand on the
one side how it was possible to yield to the King, on the other how it
was possible to resist. No final decision could be made by him until he
had heard the minds of his fellows; and fortunately they would all speak
before him. He busied himself then with disentan