CHAPTER XXII.
MEN AS TOWERS.
It was May morning, and Taffy made one of the group gathered on the roof of Magdalen Tower.

In the groves below and across the river meadows all the birds were singing together.

Beyond the glimmering suburbs, St.Clement's and Cowley St.John, over the dark rise by Bullingdon Green, the waning moon seemed to stand still and wait, poised on her nether horn.

Below her the morning sky waited, clean and virginal, letting her veil of mist slip lower and lower until it rested in folds upon Shotover.

While it dropped a shaft of light tore through it and smote flashing on the vane high above Taffy's head, turning the dark side of the turrets to purple and casting lilac shadows on the surplices of the choir.