Her courtesy was acknowledged by a most profound bow, but, refusing the seat she proffered him, Nicholas reached another for himself and sat down upon it by the side of the maiden.

It was a long time since Nicholas had witnessed so much magnificence gathered together in one room, and tired by his long ride and soothed by the grateful odour of the incense which filled the room, and also struck by a feeling of reverential awe by the solemnity of the whole scene, which readily appealed to his religious instincts, he remembered nothing of what had just transpired, but leaned his head upon his hand and fell into a reverie, such as he had allowed himself to indulge in when alone in his solitary Deepdale cell.

“He is not asleep,” said Dorothy, stretching forward and laying her hand upon his arm.  “He has been waiting long for thee.”

Her voice startled Nicholas, who had become sublimely unconscious of his surroundings; and incoherently murmuring some remark, maybe the conclusion of one of his prayers, he turned round and fixed his gaze upon the form of the dying man.

“Reverend father,” he exclaimed in a subdued and quiet voice, “I am here to aid thee.”

Father Philip turned himself round with difficulty and faced the speaker.

“Dorothy,” he called.

“I am here, father,” she replied, “I have never left thee.”

“Take it away from my eyes, child,” he commanded.

Father Philip never called her child except on rare occasions when her conduct displeased him, and she would have felt hurt at the appellation now had it not been for the unusual circumstances of the case.  She looked inquiringly at him to fathom his meaning, but, seeing nothing to remove, she would have asked him what it was he meant, had he not interrupted her.

“Take it away, Dorothy,” he repeated, “I cannot see.”

“Poor brother,” exclaimed Nicholas, noticing the discomfiture.  “I fear me thou art blind.  There is naught to take away, save the film 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.