The Father stood on the altar steps with the habit lying at his feet. He took it up and blessed it and then put it on John, saying as he bound it with the cord, “Take this cord and wear it in memory of the purity of heart wherewith you must ever hereafter seek to abide in the love and service of our Lord Jesus.” At that moment a door was suddenly and loudly slammed, to signify that the world was being shut out; the choir said the Gloria Patri, and then sang a hymn beginning: Farewell, thou world of sorrow, Unrest, and schism and strife! I leave thee on the threshold Of the celestial life. It was the occasion of Brother Paul's life vows also, and as John stood back from the altar steps the lay brother was brought up to them. He was very pale and nervous, and he would have stumbled but for the help of the Father Minister and Brother Andrew, who walked on either side of him. Then the same ceremony was gone through again, but with yet more solemn accessories. The burial service was read, the De Profundis was sung, the bell was tolled, the Ecce quam bonum was intoned, and finally the chant was chanted: Dead to Him, then death is over, Dead and gone are death's dark fears. John Storm was profoundly stirred. The heavens seemed to open and all the earth to pass away. It was difficult to believe that he was still in the flesh. When he was able to collect himself he was on the tower again, but in his cassock now and gripping the cord by which it was tied. The frosty air of the morning had thickened to a fog, the fog-signals were sounding, and the mighty monster below seemed to be puffing fire from a thousand nostrils and bellowing from a thousand throats. Some one had come up to him. It was Brother Paul. He was talking nervously and even pretending to laugh a little. “I am so happy to see you here. And I am glad the silence is at an end and I am able to tell you so.” “Thank you,” said John, and he tried to pass him. “I always knew you would come to us--that is to say, after the night I heard you at the hospital--the night of the Nurses' Ball, you remember, and the Father's visit, you know. Still, I trust there was nothing wrong--nothing at the hospital, I mean----” John was fumbling for the door to the dormer. “Everybody loved you too--the patients and the nurses and everybody! How they will miss you there! I trust you left everybody well--and happy and--eh?” “Good-night,” said John from the head of the stair. There was silence for a moment, and then the brother said, in another voice: “Yes, I understand you. I know quite well what you mean. It is a fault to speak of the outer world except on especial need. We have taken the vows, too, and are pledged for life--I am, at all events. Still, if you could have told me anything---- But I am much to blame. I must confess my fault and do my penance.” John was diving down the stair and hurrying into his room.