“I stepped into bed, but for a long time could not sleep. I simply tossed and turned about till long past midnight, when, lying with my face to the wall, I became aware of a light in the room. I looked around but could see nothing, although the small cell appeared unusually light, becoming indeed brighter and brighter, until near the door the brilliance was so dazzling, that my eyes could not bear to look upon it. “I sat up on my humble wooden bedstead, and endeavoured to pierce the effulgence, but instead I was forced to close my eyes, for the glare was positively blinding. Then out of the radiance of glory came a voice, which from its thrilling accents I knew belonged not to this earth, and slowly, distinctly, and musically, uttered these words of dreadful import-- “‘O gifted monk, thy skill is great, though thy veneration for holy things but small; amongst Heaven’s saints thou hast presumed to place one who, of this earth, was earthy, although doubtless dear to thee. He whose portrait is shown in the east window--who is not of the elect--shall stand in his vitreous form as a penance till _accident_ doth destroy his effigy. He shall know and hear all that passes around, but except for _one hour in each century_, shall have neither movement nor speech. _Accident_, not design, can alone cancel this dread sentence. _Vale._’ “I sank back upon my bed trembling with fear, and pinching myself to see if I was awake or dreaming; but I knew that I was awake, for the light still illumined the room, although it grew fainter each moment; till, in the space of perhaps a full minute, it died quite out; the last portion to melt away being a circular aureole or nimbus, which remained for some time after the larger blaze of light had disappeared. “No sleep drew down my eyelids that long night, and in the morning I was so ill that I could not rise for matins, and the good Abbot came to my cell to ascertain the cause of my absence. “‘Too much wine, my son, eh?’ he good-humouredly suggested. “‘Nay, father, jest not, I pray, for I have a confession to make, if you will bid my worthy brethren depart.’ “We were quickly left alone, and the door being closed, I related to the Superior my vision of the night, at which his smiling face gradually became sedate, and even stern, as he listened to my recital of the strange apparition. “‘My son, the long hours spent in study, and the work of painting our great east window, have been too much for thy teeming brain; thou art feverish, and require rest. Stay thou in bed for a day or two, and I will forego thee thy duties. Rest patiently, my son, and be not over thoughtful of the vision, which was probably but the hallucination of an overwrought brain.’