nod gently with sleep as the
soft heavy waves of melody poured down, lulling him.

He began now to catch the words, as his ears grew accustomed to the
sound, and he, too, sat back to listen.

"_Fiat pax in virtute tua: et abundantia in turribus tuis;" "Propter
fratres meos et proximos meos_:" came back the answer, "_loquebar pacem
de te_." And once more: "_Propter domum Domini Dei nostri: quaesivi bona
tibi_."

Then there was a soft clattering roar as the monks rose to their feet,
and in double volume from the bent heads sounded out the _Gloria Patri_.

It was overwhelming to the young man to hear the melodious tumult of
praise, and to remember that in less than a week he would be standing
there among the novices and adding his voice. It seemed to him as if he
had already come into the heart of life that he had felt pulsating round
him as he swam in the starlight a month before. It was this that was
reality, and the rest illusion. Here was the end for which man was made,
the direct praise of God; here were living souls eager and alert on the
business of their existence, building up with vibration after vibration
the eternal temple of glory in which God dwelt. Once he began to sing,
and then stopped. He would be silent here until his voice had been
authorized to join in that consecrated offering.

He waited until all was over, and the two lines of black figures had
passed out southwards, and the sacristan was going round putting out
the lights; and then he too rose and went out, thrilled and excited,
into the gathering twilight, as the bell for supper began to sound out
from the refectory tower.

He found Mr. Morris waiting for him at the entrance to the guest-house,
and the two went up the stairs at the porter's directions into the
parlour that looked out over the irregular court towards the church and
convent.

Christopher sat down in the window seat.

Over the roofs opposite the sky was still tender and luminous, with rosy
light from the west, and a little troop of pigeons were wheeling over
the church in their last flight before returning home to their huge
dwelling down by the stream. The porter had gone a few minutes before,
and Christopher presently saw him returning with Dom Anthony Marks, the
guest-master, whom he had got to know very well on former visits. In a
fit of shyness he drew back from the window, and stood up, nervous and
trembling, and a moment later heard steps on the stairs. Mr. Morris had