lm from
off thine eyes."

"Brother, did you say?" asked the dying man. "Did you say brother; are
you then the priest? Praise be to God; I shall die easy now," and he
buried his face in the pillow and wept for joy.

"Let him lie as he is," whispered Nicholas; "he will be far easier so.
Poor man, he is indeed at the portals of death."

"The leech said so," replied the heart-broken Dorothy, and then for a
long time they sat motionless, watching with intense earnestness each
movement of the dying man.

The good father wept unrestrainedly. His whole frame quivered with
emotion as the sobs escaped his breast; until, after a time, the
sounds gradually and yet perceptibly grew weaker and fainter, and
finally died away altogether.

"He is dead!" sobbed Dorothy, after a long pause.

"Nay, see," replied her companion, "his bosom heaves, but the end is
very near. May my last hour be as calm as this," he added earnestly,
as he gazed as the father.

"Amen, so be it, Nicholas Bury," said a voice from the region of the
doorway.

The monk started at the sound of his name, but did not move; the
tapers were burning before the altar, and the curtain was drawn, and
he failed to distinguish the features of the visitor.

Dorothy, even through her ears, noticed that he was startled and
discomposed, and she hastened to reassure him.

"No harm, no harm, good father; 'tis but Master John Manners," she
said.

"You have not forgotten me, surely?" inquired Manners, stepping
forward, and throwing the light upon his face.

The priest gave a start of surprise as he recognised the visage of the
new comer.

"Forgotten a Rutland?" he exclaimed. "No, never! Right glad am I to
meet with thee again, but hush! This is the chamber of death. I will
see thee afterwards. The father moves, see."

Father Philip endeavoured to turn himself over, but he was too weak to
succeed, and he fell back exhausted.

"Oh, dear," he groaned, "I am a sinful man."

"So are we all, brother," returned Nicholas. "The best of us are very
sinful."

"Dorothy."

Doll stood up and leaned over the bed.

"Give me your hand, my daughter."

She placed her hands between the thin hands which the father held out
feebly to her, while the hot tears trickled down her face and fell in
rapid succession upon the quilted coverlid beneath.

"Will you kiss me, Doll?" he asked. "I shall never ask aught of thee
again. Tell the baron," he slowly continued, addressing the priest