‘Tira-la-lee, tira-la-lee’; the music grew fainter in his ears, he was giddy with dancing, the strong ale weighted down his brain. He stumbled towards her, his arms open to embrace her; he slipped and fell heavily, senseless in a drunken swoon. * * * * * Friar Gregory awoke. The sky was pale. The stars were fading into the chill light of breaking day. Above his head rose the Church tower, clad in mist. A heavy dew mantled the Churchyard grass. The Friar was chilled to the bone; his head and limbs ached; his soul was numb within him. Slowly he recollected the Feast of Corpus Christi, the alehouse, the Carol dance, the Churchyard and the woman. He moaned and rested his head between his hands. A bitter remorse overcame him. He seemed alone in the midst of desolation, in the darkness of a great pit. He had left the hard and certain way; he had tired of that life of noble austerities and forsaken it like a child for painted flowers; he had eaten the deceitful fruit of the Dead Sea, and the dust and ashes were yet bitter in his mouth. He loathed the gross world into which he had flung himself with rash madness; he loathed the nature within him which had betrayed him to such grossness. He had wished more room, more scope for the surging activities and desires of his nature; he had not remembered that he was shapen in wickedness and in sin conceived. Now there was nowhere he could go. He could not sit with the holy Fathers again; he could not converse with them, he could not pray with them; to their holy conversation he could not come again. Nor could he accustom himself to that gross and bestial world with which he had madly mingled himself the night before. His soul was homeless from this time forth. Two heavy tears rolled down his cheeks. Suddenly from the little Priory beyond the Churchyard floated forth, clear and strong upon the morning air, the chant of the monks singing at Mass. ‘Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us: Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, give unto us peace.’ Friar Gregory listened, and his lips began to move in unison with the sweet words. The tears fell down his face like rain. * * * * * The next Saturday, Father Gregory was in his place in the Schools and lectured on the mysteries of fate and free will. Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press Transcriber's Notes: Italics are shown thus: _sloping_. Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained. Perceived typographical errors have been changed.