He heard a movement within; the hatch was drawn aside, and his bread and beer were handed to him by a pleasant-looking old man, who proved himself not at all disinclined for conversation.
'You may sit down on yonder bench,' said he.

'Nay, man! sit i' the sun, for it's a chilly place, this, and then you can look through the grate and watch th' old fellows toddling about in th' quad.' Philip sat down where the warm October sun slanted upon him, and looked through the iron railing at the peaceful sight.
A great square of velvet lawn, intersected diagonally with broad flag-paved walks, the same kind of walk going all round the quadrangle; low two-storied brick houses, tinted gray and yellow by age, and in many places almost covered with vines, Virginian creepers, and monthly roses; before each house a little plot of garden ground, bright with flowers, and evidently tended with the utmost care; on the farther side the massive chapel; here and there an old or infirm man sunning himself, or leisurely doing a bit of gardening, or talking to one of his comrades--the place looked as if care and want, and even sorrow, were locked out and excluded by the ponderous gate through which Philip was gazing.
'It's a nice enough place, bean't it ?' said the porter, interpreting Philip's looks pretty accurately.

'Leastways, for them as likes it.
I've got a bit weary on it myself; it's so far from th' world, as a man may say; not a decent public within a mile and a half, where one can hear a bit o' news of an evening.' 'I think I could make myself very content here,' replied Philip.
'That's to say, if one were easy in one's mind.' 'Ay, ay, my man.

That's it everywhere.

Why, I don't think that I could enjoy myself--not even at th' White Hart, where they give you as good a glass of ale for twopence as anywhere i' th' four kingdoms--I couldn't, to say, flavour my ale even there, if my old woman lay a-dying; which is a sign as it's the heart, and not the ale, as makes the drink.' Just then the warden's back-door opened, and out came the warden himself, dressed in full clerical costume.
He was going into the neighbouring city, but he stopped to speak to Philip, the wounded soldier; and all the more readily because his old faded uniform told the warden's experienced eye that he had belonged to the Marines.
'I hope you enjoy the victual provided for you by the founder of St Sepulchre,' said he, kindly.