He had been determined to be so soon upon the road by a feeling that it would be well for him to get over those last hours.
Thus he found himself in Barchester at eleven o'clock, with nothing on his hands to do; and, having nothing else to do, he went to church.

There was a full service at the cathedral, and as the verger marshalled him up to one of the empty stalls, a little spare old man was beginning to chant the Litany.

"I did not mean to fall in for all this," said Crosbie, to himself, as he settled himself with his arms on the cushion.

But the peculiar charm of that old man's voice soon attracted him;--a voice that, though tremulous, was yet strong; and he ceased to regret the saint whose honour and glory had occasioned the length of that day's special service.
"And who is the old gentleman who chanted the Litany ?" he asked the verger afterwards, as he allowed himself to be shown round the monuments of the cathedral.
"That's our precentor, sir, Mr Harding.

You must have heard of Mr Harding." But Crosbie, with a full apology, confessed his ignorance.
"Well, sir; he's pretty well known too, tho' he is so shy like.