d bent low, and resting against a ledge of the rock
which formed the walls of the little dwelling. The monk sat down on a
piece of rock outside the cell, and soon so completely lost himself in
thought that Annora grew weary of her amusement before he spoke again.
She did not, however, leave him; but when she had thrown away her
flowers, and had spent some minutes in a vain search for a four-leaved
clover, fairly tired out, she came and stood before him.

"The shadow is nearly straight, Father Guy. Will she be much longer, do
you think?"

Guy started suddenly when Annora spoke.

"There is something amiss," he replied, in a tone of apprehension. "I
never knew her so long before. Has she heard my news already?"

He looked in again. The grey veiled figure had not changed its
position. After a moment's irresolution, Guy laid his hand upon the
latch. The monk and the child entered together,--Guy with a face of
resolute endurance, as though something which would cost him much pain
must nevertheless be done; Annora with one of innocent wonder, not
unmixed with awe.

Guy took one step forward, and stopped suddenly.

"O Father Guy!" said Annora in a whisper, "the Grey Lady is not
praying,--she is asleep."

"Yes, she is asleep," replied Guy in a constrained voice. "`So He
giveth His beloved sleep.' He knew how terribly the news would pain
her; and He would let none tell it to her but Himself. `I thank Thee, O
Father, Lord of Heaven and earth!'"

"But how strangely she sleeps!" cried Annora, still under her breath.
"How white she is! and she looks so cold! Father Guy, won't you awake
her? She is not having nice dreams, I am afraid."

"The angels must awake her," said Guy, solemnly. "Sweeter dreams than
hers could no man have; for far above, in the Holy Land, she seeth the
King's face. Child, this is not sleep--it is death."

Ay, in the attitude of prayer, her head pillowed in its last sleep on
that ledge of the rock, knelt all that was mortal of Isabel La
Despenser. With her had been no priest to absolve--save the High
Priest; no hand had smoothed her pathway to the grave but the Lord's own
hand, who had carried her so tenderly through the valley of the shadow
of death. Painlessly the dark river was forded, silently the
pearl-gates were thrown open; and now she stood within the veil, in the
innermost sanctuary of the Temple of God. The arras of her life,
wrought with such hard labour and bitter tears, w