And the ghostly procession thrice tracks the four ambulatories of the cloisters, solemnly chanting a requiem for the dead.
Dolefully sounds the bell.

And at its summons all the old retainers of the abbot press to the gate, and sue for admittance, but in vain.

They, therefore, mount the neighbouring hill commanding the abbey, and as the solemn sounds float faintly by, and glimpses are caught of the white-robed brethren gliding along the cloisters, and rendered phantom-like by the torchlight, the beholders half imagine it must be a company of sprites, and that the departed monks have been permitted for an hour to assume their old forms, and revisit their old haunts.
Dolefully sounds the bell.

And two biers, covered with palls, are borne slowly towards the church, followed by a tall monk.
The clock was on the stroke of twelve.

The procession having drawn up within the court in front of the abbot's lodging, the prisoners were brought forth, and at sight of the abbot the whole of the monks fell on their knees.