The bell rang, and the brothers trooped down the stairs. Presently the low, droning sound of their voices came up from the chapel where they were saying Lauds. But the service had scarcely ended when the Father Minister's step was on the stair again. This time another was with him. It was the doctor. They entered the brother's room and closed the door behind them. From the other side of the wall John Storm followed every movement and every word. “So he has gone at last, poor soul!” “Is he long dead, doctor?” “Some hours, certainly. Was there nobody with him then?” “He didn't wish for anybody. And then you told us that nothing could he done, and that he might live a month.” “Still, a dying man, you know---- But how strangely composed he looks! And then the cross on his breast as well!” “He was very devout and penitent. He made his last devotion yesterday with an intensity of joy such as I have rarely witnessed.” “His eyes closed, too! You are sure there was nobody with him?” “Nobody whatever.” There was a moment's silence and then the doctor said, “Well, he has slipped his anchor at last, poor soul!” “Yes, he has launched on the ocean of the love of God. May we all be as ready when our call comes!” They came back to the corridor, and John heard their footsteps going downstairs. Then for some minutes there were unusual noises below. Rapid steps were coming and going, the hall bell was ringing, and the front door was opening and shutting. An hour later Brother Andrew came with the breakfast. He was obviously excited, and putting down the tray he began to busy himself in the room and to sing, as before, in, his pretence of a Gregorian chant: “Brother Paul is dead--he died in the night--there was nobody with him--we are sorry he has left us, but glad he is at peace-God rest the soul of our poor Brother Paul!” It was Easter Day. At midday service in the church the brothers sang the Easter hymn, and a mighty longing took hold of John Storm for his own resurrection from his living grave. Next day there was much coming and going between the world outside and the adjoining cell, and late at night there were heavy and shambling footsteps, and even some coarse and ribald talk. “Bear a 'and, myte.” “Well, they won't have their backs broke as carry this one downstairs. He ain't a Danny Lambert, anyway.” “No, they don't feed ye on Bovril in plyces syme as this. I'll lay ye odds yer own looking-glass wouldn't know ye arter three months 'ard on religion and dry tommy.” “It pawses me 'ow people tyke to it. Gimme my pint of four-half, and my own childring to follow me.” Early on the following morning a stroke rang out on the bell, then another stroke, and again another. “It is the knell,” thought John. A group of the lay brothers came up and passed into the room. “Now!” said one, as if giving a signal, and then they passed out again with the measured steps of men who bear a burden. “They are taking him away,” he thought.