I got up from my seat, and looked round as I did so. It seemed to my fancy as if there were some strange Presence filling the room. It seemed as I turned as if crowding faces swiftly withdrew themselves over and behind the screen. A picture on the wall overhead lifted and dropped again like a door as if to let something escape. The coverlet, which was a little disarranged by the old man’s movement, rippled gently as if some one who had been seated on the bed had risen. I heard Parker, too, behind me draw his breath quickly through his teeth. All this I noticed in a moment; the next I had bent over the bed towards the priest and put my hand on his shoulder. Either he or I was trembling, I felt as I touched him. “My dear old friend,” I said, “cannot you lie down quietly a little? You cannot think how you are distressing us both.” Then I added a word or two, presumptuously, I felt, in the presence of this old man, who knew so much about the Love of God and the Compassion of our Saviour. Presently he withdrew his hands and looked at me. “Yes, yes,” he said; “but you do not understand. I am a priest.” I sat down again. I tried hard to control a great trembling that had seized me. Still he watched me. Then he said more quietly: “Is it nearly morning?” “It is not yet twelve o’clock, sir,” said Parker’s voice steadily behind me. “Then I must watch and pray a little longer,” said the old man. “Joy cometh in the morning.” Then quite quietly he turned and lifted the crucifix from its nail, kissed it and replaced it. Then he put his hands over his face again and remained still. The wind outside seemed quieter. But whenever it sighed in the chimney or at the window the priest winced a little, as if a sudden pain had touched him. He was supported by pillows behind his back and head, against which he leaned easily. After a few minutes of silence his hands dropped and clasped themselves on his lap. His eyes were closed, and he seemed breathing steadily. I hoped that he would fall asleep so. But as I turned to whisper to Parker, I suppose I must have made a slight noise, for when I looked at the servant he paid no attention to me, but was looking at his master. I turned back again, and saw the old man’s eyes gazing straight at me. “Yes,” he said; “go and sleep; why are you here? Parker, why did you allow him to come?” “I woke up and came myself,” I said. “Parker did not disturb me.” “Well, go back to bed now. You will serve me in the morning?” I tried to say something about his not being fit to get up, but he waved it aside. “You cannot understand,” he said quietly. “That is my one hope and escape. Joy cometh in the morning. There are many souls here and elsewhere that are waiting for that joy, and I must not disappoint them. And I too,” he added softly, “I too look for that joy. Go now, and we will meet in the morning.” And he smiled at me so gently that I got up and went, feeling comforted.