or
the blood and he was just then under doctor's care. Mrs. Malins, who had
been silent all through the supper, said that her son was going down to
Mount Melleray in a week or so. The table then spoke of Mount Melleray,
how bracing the air was down there, how hospitable the monks were and
how they never asked for a penny-piece from their guests.

"And do you mean to say," asked Mr. Browne incredulously, "that a chap
can go down there and put up there as if it were a hotel and live on the
fat of the land and then come away without paying anything?"

"O, most people give some donation to the monastery when they leave."
said Mary Jane.

"I wish we had an institution like that in our Church," said Mr. Browne
candidly.

He was astonished to hear that the monks never spoke, got up at two in
the morning and slept in their coffins. He asked what they did it for.

"That's the rule of the order," said Aunt Kate firmly.

"Yes, but why?" asked Mr. Browne.

Aunt Kate repeated that it was the rule, that was all. Mr. Browne still
seemed not to understand. Freddy Malins explained to him, as best he
could, that the monks were trying to make up for the sins committed by
all the sinners in the outside world. The explanation was not very clear
for Mr. Browne grinned and said:

"I like that idea very much but wouldn't a comfortable spring bed do
them as well as a coffin?"

"The coffin," said Mary Jane, "is to remind them of their last end."

As the subject had grown lugubrious it was buried in a silence of the
table during which Mrs. Malins could be heard saying to her neighbour in
an indistinct undertone:

"They are very good men, the monks, very pious men."

The raisins and almonds and figs and apples and oranges and chocolates
and sweets were now passed about the table and Aunt Julia invited all
the guests to have either port or sherry. At first Mr. Bartell D'Arcy
refused to take either but one of his neighbours nudged him and
whispered something to him upon which he allowed his glass to be filled.
Gradually as the last glasses were being filled the conversation
ceased. A pause followed, broken only by the noise of the wine and by
unsettlings of chairs. The Misses Morkan, all three, looked down at
the tablecloth. Someone coughed once or twice and then a few gentlemen
patted the table gently as a signal for silence. The silence came and
Gabriel pushed back his chair.

The patting at once grew louder in encouragement and th