rris
was everywhere, sitting on a form by the door, in and out with food and
medicine, at his old master's bedside, lifting his pillow, turning him
in bed, holding his convulsive hands.

He had been ill six days, the Lieutenant told them. The doctor who had
been called in from outside named the disease _phrenitis_. It was
certain that he would not recover; and a message to that effect had been
sent across on the morning before, with the usual reports to Greenwich.

They had supped as they sat--silently--on what the gaoler brought; and
had slept by turns in the tall chair, wakening at a sound from the bed;
at the movement of the light across the floor as Morris slipped to and
fro noiselessly; at the chirp of the birds and the noises of the
stirring City as the daylight broadened on the wall, and the narrow
window grew bright and luminous.

And now the morning was high, and they were waiting for the end.

* * * * *

A little table stood by the door, white-covered, with two candles,
guttering now in their sockets, and a tall crucifix, ivory and black,
lifting its arms in the midst. Before it stood two veiled vessels.

"He will speak before he passes," the doctor had told them the evening
before; "I do not know whether he will be able to receive Viaticum."

* * * * *

Chris raised himself a little in his chair--he was stiff with leaning
elbows on knees; and he stretched out his feet softly; looking down
still at the bed.

His brother lay with his back to him; the priest could see the black
hair, longer than Court fashion allowed now, the brown sinewy neck
beneath; and one arm outlined over his hip beneath the piled clothes.
The fingers were moving a little, contracting and loosening, contracting
and loosening; and he could hear the long slow breaths.

Beyond sat Beatrice, upright and quiet, one hand in her lap, and the
other holding the father's. The old man was bowed with his head on his
other hand, as he had been for the last hour, his back bent forward with
the burden, and his feet crossed before him.

From outside the noises grew louder as the morning advanced. There had
been the sound of continual coming and going since it was light. Wheels
had groaned and rattled up out of the distance and ceased abruptly; and
the noise of hoofs had been like an endless patter over the
stone-paving. And now, as the hours passed a murmur had been increasing,
a s