He sat with the other students in the cathedral choir next day; and the recollection of the trouble obscured the purple splendour thrown by the panes upon the floor.
It was afternoon.

All was as still in the Close as a cathedral-green can be between the Sunday services, and the incessant cawing of the rooks was the only sound.

Joshua Halborough had finished his ascetic lunch, and had gone into the library, where he stood for a few moments looking out of the large window facing the green.

He saw walking slowly across it a man in a fustian coat and a battered white hat with a much-ruffled nap, having upon his arm a tall gipsy-woman wearing long brass earrings.

The man was staring quizzically at the west front of the cathedral, and Halborough recognized in him the form and features of his father.