Soon a melody of thrumming kettles would rise into the air, in every glowing room tea would be preparing, the glorious luxury of rest after stinging exercise would fill the courts with worship, unconsciously driven, skywards, to the Powers of Health.

And then, after years of time, as it seemed, faintly through the closed windows at last came the single note of St.Martin's bell.

That meant that it was quarter to five.

Almost unconsciously he rose, put on his cap and gown and passed through the twilit streets that were stealing now into a dim glow under their misty lamps.

The great chapel of St.Martin's, planted like some couchant animal grey and mysterious against the blue of the evening sky, flung through its windows the light of its many candles.
He found a seat at the back of the dark high-hanging ante-chapel.