That evening, Father Vassall varied the order of night prayers somewhat. He crossed over the chapel to Paul, after the Scripture reading, and put a little manual in his hand. It was not wholly unfamiliar to the boy, but for the first time the real significance of the Office of Compline dawned on him. He saw the long dark corridors leading from chapel, the silent shut-off monastic cells, the peasant on his lonely road home, the soldier on sentry guard while the camp slept. He saw that the night had been alive to such, and that their faith had made these prayers for a shield. And he was not sorry for that shield himself that night. Grant us, O Lord, a quiet night and a perfect end. Your adversary the devil, goeth about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour. Thou shalt not be afraid for the Terror by night, For He shall give His angels charge over thee. Visit this house, we beseech Thee, O Lord. Drive far from it all snares of the enemy. Let Thy holy angels dwell therein.... All his imagination astir, Paul listened, in his secret heart, for the drift of pinions. Nor, then, did he wonder that he failed to hear them; he only marvelled a little at the impenetrability of clay-shuttered doors. (5) Thus, then, came Paul Kestern to his last night at Thurloe End. Judge ye, who may. This, at least, was the manner of it. The Father had read aloud _The Holy Grail_, and Paul _The Hound of Heaven_. He had himself chosen it; he had no one to blame for that. Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest (he read), I am He Whom thou seekest; Thou drivest Love from thee, Who drivest Me. He shut the book. The little priest was nursing his knees against the tall fender, and the boy looked from him to the candlelight on the white of the uncanonised saint's hat on the mantelshelf. It rather fascinated him, that round skull-cap. It was a child's trick to put it there, the little white satiny thing in its glass-fronted box--a child's trick, lovable. He looked at the priest again. The other stirred. "My dear," he said, stammering badly, "you g-g-go to-m-m-morrow. And we've kept the tr-truce." Paul nodded. Silence. The priest spoke again. "I don't know," he said. "I can't stick my fingers into your soul. I d-d-don't want to. Only God's been good to you, you know. And--and He's a j-j-jealous God." "Oh, I don't know," burst out the boy. "Father, I don't know. There's so much for and against. And I've prayed and prayed and prayed, and--and God hides Himself." "He's given you all the l-l-light you need. He's shown you! He's sent His Son and appointed His Church and p-p-put it b-b-bang in your p-path. What else do you want? Do you want a special r-r-revelation?" "Oh, I don't know," wailed Paul. "I don't KNOW."