“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 now, “tell him that I blessed her and told her yes.”

Dorothy bent down thoroughly heartbroken, and kissed the marble-like forehead, dropping as she did a shower of tears upon his face.

“What is that, the holy water?” he asked, placing his finger upon one of the drops.

“I could not help it, father,” she sobbed aloud, “indeed I could not.  They are tears, but I will wipe them off.”

“God bless thee, Doll, thou hast a tender heart.  Nay, nay, leave them on I beseech thee, they shall be thy last gift to the old man; I will take them with me into my grave.”

He paused, but Dorothy could not speak.  She covered her face with her hands and wept on.

“May the Blessed Virgin ever be your friend,” he continued, resting his hand upon her head, “and may the saints protect thee.  I have naught to give thee, Doll, but thou shalt have my blessing.  God bless thee, Doll, God bless thee and thy lover,” and he sank back upon the bed completely exhausted.

They sat motionless by his side for some minutes, only Dorothy’s sobs and the sick man’s broken sighs breaking upon the silence, until at last Manners advanced, and taking the hand of his betrothed, led her unresistingly out into the garden.

Nicholas sat, after their departure, until well into the night, watching by the bedside, before Father Philip opened his eyes again.  Many inquirers had visited the room, but they had departed again, and, though they knew it not, they had looked for the last time upon the familiar form of the confessor, ere he breathed his last.