, or gold case in which the Host was reserved, he lighted the candle,
which he gave, together with his stole, to the youth to bear before him.

Then, when the light fell full on his features, Ambrose with a strange
thrill of joy and trust perceived that it was no other than Dean Colet,
who had here been praying against the fury of the people. He was very
thankful, feeling intuitively that there was no fear but that Abenali
would be understood, and for his own part, the very contact with the man
whom he revered seemed to calm and soothe him, though on that solemn
errand no word could be spoken. Ambrose went on slowly before, his dark
head uncovered, the priestly stole hanging over his arm, his hands
holding aloft the tall candle of virgin wax, while the Dean followed
closely with feeble steps, looking frail and worn, but with a grave,
sweet solemnity on his face. It was a perfectly still morning, and as
they slowly paced along, the flame burnt steadily with little
flickering, while the pure, delicately-coloured sky overhead was
becoming every moment lighter, and only the larger stars were visible.
The houses were absolutely still, and the only person they met, a lad
creeping homewards after the fray, fell on his knees bareheaded as he
perceived their errand. Once or twice again sounds came up from the
city beneath, like shrieks or wailing breaking strangely on that fair
peaceful May morn; but still that pair went on till Ambrose had guided
the Dean to the yard, where, except that the daylight was revealing more
and more of the wreck around, all was as he had left it. Aldonza, poor
child, with her black hair hanging loose like a veil, for she had been
startled from her bed, still sat on the ground making her lap a pillow
for the white-bearded head, nobler and more venerable than ever. On it
lay, in the absolute immobility produced by the paralysing blow, the
fine features already in the solemn grandeur of death, and only the
movement of the lips under the white flowing beard and of the dark eyes
showing life.

Dean Colet said afterwards that he felt as if he had been called to the
death-bed of Israel, or of Barzillai the Gileadite, especially when the
old man, in the Oriental phraseology he had never entirely lost, said,
"I thank Thee, my God, and the God of my fathers, that Thou hast granted
me that which I had prayed for."

The Dutch printer was already slightly known to the Dean, having sold
him many books. A