When I had arisen from my knees I went to the side of the pallet and looked upon the sleeper’s face. In the shadow it gleamed like polished ivory, and as I looked the moon, climbing higher, touched the still mouth with a sweet and sanctified light, making it as though it smiled. I touched the hand that swung by the side of the pallet. It was scarcely cold. I knew not how I thought of such a thing, except that I was familiar with the knights and ladies who sleep in stone in St. Mary’s Church, but I composed the sleeper’s hands in the manner of Christ’s cross upon his breast; and afterwards turned away from the patient, smiling mouth like one who hath sinned and been forgiven. Then I did what I believed he would have me do: I made a search for any letters and papers he might have left; for I could not think he had left me ignorant of what he would have me know. I searched busily; and there were not many places wherein to look. There was nothing anywhere. But my search was not yet over till I had examined the monk’s person. I went back to his side, and with a prayer to him for forgiveness, I groped gently in his habit for anything in the nature of papers, and doing so I felt his body to be by wasting scarcely greater than a child’s. Yet ’twas not starvation, I knew, for a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water stood on the table. I had not far to seek. The papers were within the folds of his habit, where they met upon his breast, and were confined with the claspings of his leathern belt. I drew them forth and went to the full flood of the moonlight. By it I read the superscription: “_To Walter Devereux Fitz-Hugo Fitz-Theobald Fitz-Maurice_”— As I read it my heart leaped up. What a proud name it was, and telling of a glorious ancestry! “—commonly known as Walter Munster, the ward and page of Sir Walter Raleigh.” When I had deciphered so far the tower seemed suddenly to rock. It was the great clock in the neighboring tower striking of midnight; and I had yet to ford the passageway between the graves! Already I might have been missed. I read no more, but thrust the papers within my breast. Then I bent and kissed the hands of the monk, feeling again that rush of softness, and as I kissed the hands I noticed the great string of beads which fell from the girdle, and that too I kissed, and the crucifix dependent from it; and these things I did blindly, having then a hard and ignorant heart, but being compelled I knew not how. Then I stole from the tower-room and again down the winding staircase; but first I had drawn the cowl over the face and hid the hands and feet in the folds of the habit; and so left him to quietness and the night.