hovered above. After some minutes of bitter weeping, which choked
his utterance, Ambrose, feeling a friendly hand on his shoulder,
exclaimed in a voice broken by sobs, "Oh, tell me, where may I go to
become an anchorite! There's no other safety! I'll give all my
portion, and spend all my time in prayer for my father and the other
poor souls in purgatory."

Two centuries earlier, nay, even one, Ambrose would have been
encouraged to follow out his purpose. As it was, Tibble gave a
little dry cough and said, "Come along with me, sir, and I'll show
you another sort of way."

"I want no entertainment!" said Ambrose, "I should feel only as if
he," pointing to the phantom, "were at hand, clutching me with his
deadly claw," and he looked over his shoulder with a shudder.

There was a box by the door to receive alms for masses on behalf of
the souls in purgatory, and here he halted and felt for the pouch at
his girdle, to pour in all the contents; but Steelman said, "Hold,
sir, are you free to dispose of your brother's share, you who are
purse-bearer for both?"

"I would fain hold my brother to the only path of safety."

Again Tibble gave his dry cough, but added, "He is not in the path
of safety who bestows that which is not his own but is held in
trust. I were foully to blame if I let this grim portrayal so work
on you as to lead you to beggar not only yourself, but your brother,
with no consent of his."