ons of the sanctuary.

Then he recollected the little Pardon Church, where he had seen the
_Dance of Death_ on the walls; and crossing the burial-ground he
entered, and, as he expected, found it empty, since the hours for masses
for the dead were now past. He knelt down on a step, repeated the sext
office, in warning for which the bells were chiming all round, covering
his face with his hands, and thinking himself back to Beaulieu; then,
seating himself on a step, leaning against the wall, he tried to think
out whether to give himself up to the leadings of the new light that had
broken on him, or whether to wrench himself from it. Was this, which
seemed to him truth and deliverance, verily the heresy respecting which
rumours had come to horrify the country convents? If he had only heard
of it from Tibble Wrymouth, he would have doubted, in spite of its power
over him, but he had heard it from a man, wise, good, and high in place,
like Dean Colet. Yet to his further perplexity, his uncle had spoken of
Colet as jesting at Wolsey's table. What course should he take? Could
he bear to turn away from that which drew his soul so powerfully, and
return to the bounds which seem to him to be grown so narrow, but which
he was told were safe? Now that Stephen was settled, it was open to him
to return to Saint Elizabeth's College, but the young soul within him
revolted against the repetition of what had become to him unsatisfying,
unless illumined by the brightness he seemed to have glimpsed at.

But Ambrose had gone through much unwonted fatigue of late, and while
thus musing he fell asleep, with his head against the wall. He was half
wakened by the sound of voices, and presently became aware that two
persons were examining the walls, and comparing the paintings with some
others, which one of them had evidently seen. If he had known it, it
was with the _Dance of Death_ on the bridge of Lucerne.

"I question," said a voice that Ambrose had heard before, "whether these
terrors be wholesome for men's souls."

"For priests' pouches, they be," said the other, with something of a
foreign accent.

"Alack, when shall we see the day when the hope of paradise and dread of
purgatory shall be no longer made the tools of priestly gain; and hatred
of sin taught to these poor folk, instead of servile dread of
punishment."

"Have a care, my Colet," answered the yellow bearded foreigner; "thou
art already in ill odour with those same