Thus, half sleeping, half waking, the night went by me, and in the morning I learnt Plucritus had returned to earth. I was not sorry. Vestné of late had taken to leaving me alone, and I was grateful for it. I remember in the days that followed her friend often played and sang to me. It was the one thing I enjoyed; for the rest, time hung heavily on my hands. Vestasian came across every day and spent much time with us. I can remember his kindness to me now, though I am afraid he could not think me very thankful at the time. Then for two or three days he did not come, and when he did I was sitting alone, the others being away. “I have been preparing for my wife,” he said. “She comes to-morrow.” I think I must have received this intelligence with something akin to pleasure, because he looked pleased. “You must come across to see us,” he suggested, “as she rarely goes beyond the grounds. I think you will be friends,” and he looked at me curiously in a way I neither understood nor cared to understand. I went to bed that night more feeble than before. I dismissed the attendant on entering the room and lay down in excessive weakness. I gave a heavy sigh, hoping to find relief, but I found that sigh followed sigh; it was the gasping pain of which they all complained, though silently. Then I knew this was going to be my end, and I was thankful I was alone, since when the pain had passed the rest would come, by total death or change. Gazing over to the wall I saw an altar shining, and a crucifix above. I rose from the bed. Must I go too? All so far had done so in the cells. Each died beside the altar. And there I went, and in great weakness stumbled forward, dying from weakness by its crimson side. A light fell from the crucifix, and on a sudden a wild, clear cry rang through the stillness. “Come! Come away—away,” and the last word tingled till it pierced something, I think it must have been the blackness.