At the next moment John was alone with the unconscious man, except for the dog which was licking his forehead. And looking after the Superior, he told himself that such unlimited power over the body and soul of another the Almighty could have meant for no man. The love of God and the fear of the devil had swallowed up the love of man and stifled all human affections. Such religion must have hardened the best man ever born. As for the poor broken creature lying there so still, his vows had been made to heaven, and to heaven alone his obedience was due. The nature within him had spoken too loudly, but there were laws of Nature which it was a sin to resist. Then why should he resist them? The cry of blood was the voice of God, or God had no voice and He could speak to no man. Then, why should he not listen? Brother Paul recovered consciousness and raised his head. The waves of memory flowed back upon him and his eyes flamed and his lips trembled. “I will go if I have to break my vows!” he said. “No need for that,” said John. “Why so?” “Because I will let you out at night and let you in again in the morning.” “You?” “Yes, I. Listen!” And then these two crushed and fettered souls, bound by no iron bonds, confined by no bolts and bars, but only under the shadow of the supernatural, sat together like prisoners in a dungeon concocting schemes for their escape. “The Father locks the outer gate himself,” said John. “Where does he keep the key?” “In his own room on a nail above his bed,” said Paul. “Who is the lay brother attending to him now?” “Brother Andrew.” “Brother Andrew will do anything for me,” said John. “But the dog?” said Paul. “He is always in the court at night, and he barks at the sound of a step.” “Not my step,” said John. “I'll do it,” said Paul. “I will send you to some one who can find your sister. You'll tell her you come from me and she'll take you with her.” They could hear the singing in the church, and they paused to listen. “When I come back in the morning I'll confess everything and do my penance,” said Paul. “And I too,” said John. The sun had come out with a sudden gleam and the thawing snow was dripping from the trees in drops like diamonds. The singing ceased, the service ended, and the brothers came back to the house. When the Father entered, Paul was clothed and in his right mind and sitting quietly on the form. “Thank God for this answer to our prayers!” said the Father. “But you must pray without ceasing lest Satan should conquer you again. Until the end of the year say your Rosary in the church every night alone from Compline to midnight.” Then turning to John he said with a smile: “And you shall be like the anchoret of old to this household, my son. We monks pray by day, but the anchoret prays by night. Unless we know that in the dark hours the anchoret guards the house, who shall rest on his bed in peace?” VII.