“Ah well!  Who knows—–?  But that doesn’t matter. . . .  Father, how long have I to live?”

The young priest leaned forward and laid his hand on the other’s arm.

“A few hours only, father,” he said gently. . . .  “You are not afraid?”

“Afraid?”

His eyes closed, and he smiled naturally and easily.

“Well; listen.  Lean closer. . . .  No . . . call the sister in.  I want her to hear too.”

“Sister——­”

She came forward, her eyes heavy with sleep, but they were bright too with an immense joy.

“Can you wait up a little longer, sister?” said Father Jervis.  “He wants us both to hear what he has to say.”

“Why, of course.”

She sat down on the other side of the bed.

Still the sounds from outside went on—­the footsteps and the voices and the bells.  They were beginning to ring for the Easter morning service in the Abbey; and still, within this room, was this air of silence and remoteness.

“Now, listen carefully,” said the dying man. . . .