But the abbot found it impossible to fix his attention on the service. The lights at the altar burnt dimly in his eyes--the loud antiphon and the supplicatory prayer fell upon a listless ear. His whole life was passing in review before him. He saw himself as he was when he first professed his faith, and felt the zeal and holy aspirations that filled him then. Years flew by at a glance, and he found himself sub-deacon; the sub-deacon became deacon; and the deacon, sub-prior, and the end of his ambition seemed plain before him. But he had a rival; his fears told him a superior in zeal and learning: one who, though many years younger than he, had risen so rapidly in favour with the ecclesiastical authorities, that he threatened to outstrip him, even now, when the goal was full in view. The darkest passage of his life approached: a crime which should cast a deep shadow over the whole of his brilliant after-career. He would have shunned its contemplation, if he could. In vain. It stood out more palpably than all the rest. His rival was no longer in his path. How he was removed the abbot did not dare to think. But he was gone for ever, unless the tall monk were he! Unable to endure this terrible retrospect, Paslew strove to bend his thoughts on other things. The choir was singing the "_Dies Irae_," and their voices thundered forth:-- Rex tremendae majestatis, Qui salvandos salvas gratis, Salva me, fons pietatis! Fain would the abbot have closed his ears, and, hoping to stifle the remorseful pangs that seized upon his very vitals with the sharpness of serpents' teeth, he strove to dwell upon the frequent and severe acts of penance he had performed. But he now found that his penitence had never been sincere and efficacious. This one damning sin obscured all his good actions; and he felt if he died unconfessed, and with the weight of guilt upon his soul, he should perish everlastingly. Again he fled from the torment of retrospection, and again heard the choir thundering forth-- Lacrymosa dies illa, Qua resurget ex favilla Judicandus homo reus. Huic ergo parce, Deus! Pie Jesu Domine! Dona eis requiem. "Amen!" exclaimed the abbot. And bowing his head to the ground, he earnestly repeated-- "Pie Jesu Domine! Dona eis requiem." Then he looked up, and resolved to ask for a confessor, and unburthen his soul without delay. The offertory and post-communion were over; the "_requiescant in pace_"--awful words addressed to living ears--were pronounced; and the mass was ended. All prepared to depart. The prior descended from the altar to embrace and take leave of the abbot; and at the same time the Earl of Derby came from the stall. "Has all been done to your satisfaction, John Paslew?" demanded the earl, as he drew near.