hat in a few days more Gerard lay a-dying in a frame
of mind so holy and happy, that more than one aged saint was there to
garner his dying words. In the evening he had seen Giles, and begged him
not to let poor Jack starve; and to see that little Gerard's trustees
did their duty, and to kiss his parents for him, and to send Denys
to his friends in Burgundy: "Poor thing, he will feel so strange here
without his comrade." And after that he had an interview with Jerome
alone. What passed between them was never distinctly known; but it must
have been something remarkable, for Jerome went from the door with his
hands crossed on his breast, his high head lowered, and sighing as he
went.

The two monks that watched with him till matins related that all through
the night he broke out from time to time in pious ejaculations, and
praises, and thanksgivings; only once they said he wandered, and thought
he saw her walking in green meadows with other spirits clad in white,
and beckoning him; and they all smiled and beckoned him. And both these
monks said (but it might have been fancy) that just before dawn there
came three light taps against the wall, one after another, very slow;
and the dying man heard them, and said.

"I come, love, I come."

This much is certain, that Gerard did utter these words, and prepare
for his departure, having uttered them. He sent for all the monks who at
that hour were keeping vigil. They came, and hovered like gentle spirits
round him with holy words. Some prayed in silence for him with their
faces touching the ground, others tenderly supported his head. But when
one of them said something about his life of self-denial and charity, he
stopped him, and addressing them all said, "My dear brethren, take note
that he who here dies so happy holds not these new-fangled doctrines of
man's merit. Oh, what a miserable hour were this to me an if I did!
Nay, but I hold, with the Apostles, and their pupils in the Church, the
ancient fathers, that we are justified not by our own wisdom, or piety,
or the works we have done in holiness of heart, but by faith.'"(1)

Then there was silence, and the monks looked at one another
significantly.

"Please you sweep the floor," said the dying Christian, in a voice to
which all its clearance and force seemed supernaturally restored.

They instantly obeyed, not without a sentiment of awe and curiosity.

"Make me a great cross with wood ashes."

They strewed the ashes