CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE BISHOP KEEPS VIGIL Old Mary Antony lay dying.
The Bishop had not allowed her to be carried from the cell of the Prioress, to her own.
He had commanded that the Reverend Mother's couch be moved from the inner room and placed before the shrine of the Virgin.

On this lay Mary Antony, while the Bishop himself kept watch beside her.
The evening light came in through the open casement, illumining the calm old face, from which the soothing hand of death was already smoothing the wrinkles.
Five hours had passed since they found her.
It had taken long to restore her to consciousness; and so soon as she awoke to her surroundings, and recognised Mother Sub-Prioress, and the many faces around her, she relapsed into silence, refusing to answer any questions, yet keeping her eyes anxiously fixed upon the door.
Seeing which, Sister Teresa slipped from the room and ran secretly to tell the Lord Bishop, who had paid but a brief visit to the Palace and was now pacing the lawn below the cloisters.
The Bishop came at once; when, seeing him enter, Mary Antony gave a cry, striving to raise herself from the pillows.
Moving to the bedside, the Bishop laid his hand upon the shaking hands, which had been clasped at sight of him.
An eager question was in the eyes lifted to his.
The Bishop bent over the couch.
"Yes," he said, and smiled.
The anxious look faded.

The eyes closed.

A triumphant smile illumined the dying face.
Turning, the Bishop asked a few whispered questions of the Sub-Prioress.
Mary Antony had taken a sip of wine, but seemed to find it impossible to partake of food.

She had been so long without, that now nature refused it.
"Undoubtedly she is dying," said Mother Sub-Prioress, not unkindly, but in the matter-of-fact tone of one to whom the hard outline of a fact is unsoftened by the atmosphere of imagination or of sympathy.
"I know it," said the Bishop, in low tones.