The Cathedral

an

d afterwards Archdeacon. Ten years later he had, by personal influence and strength of character, acquired so striking a position amongst us that he was often alluded to as "the King of Polchester." His power was the greater because both our Bishop (Bishop Purcell) and our Dean (Dean Sampson) during that period were men of retiring habits of life. A better man, a greater saint than Bishop Purcell has never

d fair and curly like that of a boy. He looked, indeed, marvellously young, and his energy and grace of movement might indeed have belonged to a youth still in his teens. It is not difficult to imagine how startling an effect his first appearance in Polchester created. Many of the Polcheste

on, then a young girl of twenty. He had by her two children, a boy, Falcon, now twenty-one years of age, and a girl, Joan, just eighteen. Br

icant and misshaped human beings He was forced to create) to fling into the world, for once, a truly Fine Specimen, Fine in Body, Fine in Soul, Fine in Intellect. Brandon had none of the sublime egoism of Sir Willoughby Patterne--he thought of others and was kindly and often unselfish--but he did, like Sir Willoughby, believe himself to be of quite another clay from the rest of mankind. He was intended to rule, God had put him into the world for that purpose, and rule he would--to the glory of God and a little, if it must

in the Precincts, in the Chapte

se, but, like a wise man,

the lights of the town far beneath the low wall that bounded the Precincts sway and blink in the storm, his heart beat with such pride and happiness that it threatened to burst the body that contained it. There had not been, perhaps, that day anything especially magnificent to elate him; he had won, at the Chapter Meeting that morning, a cheap and easy victory over Canon Foster, the only Can

ered once and again by the gods to men to lead them, maybe, into some especial blunde

the sharp sting of the raindrops upon his cheek; then, with a little breath of pleasur

f their hideous nether lips. They grinned down upon the Archdeacon, amused that he should have difficulty, there in the rain, in finding his key. "Pah!" they heard him mutter, and then, perhaps, something worse. The key was found, and he had then to bend his great height to squeeze through the little door. Once inside, he was at the corner of the Saint Margaret Chapel and could see, in the faint half-light, the rosy colours of the beautiful Saint Margaret window that gli

r. He took life with grim seriousness. He was a stupid man but obstinate, dogmatic, and given to the condemnation of his fellow-men. He hated innovations as strongly as the Archdeacon himself, but with his clinging to old forms and rituals there went no self-exaltation. He was a cold-blooded man, although his obstinacy seemed sometimes to point to a fiery fanaticism. But he was not a fanatic any more than a mule is one when he plants his feet

of the bell was suddenly emphatic. Canon Rogers stood, his hands folded motionless, gazing in front of

es to-day,

ed, coming abruptly out

t-Smith's

I believe

already six there. But no one observing his magnificent impassivity (he was famous for this throughout ecclesiastical Glebeshire) would have supposed that he had any thought other than those connected with ceremony. As he appeared the organ began its voluntary, the music stealing through the thick grey walls, creeping past the stout grey pillars that had listened, with so impervious an immobility, to an endless succession of voluntaries. The A

ut into twilight. In the high carved seats behind and beyond the choir the congregation was sitting; Miss Dobell, who never missed a service that her brother was singing, with her pinched white face and funny old- fashioned bonnet, lost between the huge arms of her seat; Mrs. Combermere,

exactly despised them; he felt kindly towards them and would have done no single one of them an injury, but he knew them all so well--Mrs

phant heat? It could not but be that he was realising to-day how everything was well with him. And why should he not realise it? Looking up to the high vaulted roofs above him, he greeted God, greeted Him as an equal, and thanked Him as a fellow- companion who had helped him through a difficult and dusty journey. He thanked Him for his health, for his bodily vigour and strength, for his beauty

tings! You have been a true and loyal friend to

im. He read aloud, in his splendid voice, something about battles and vengeance, plagues and punishment, God's anger and the trembling Israeli

has, in certain lights, the effect of delicate lace; the canopy over the tomb has pinnacles which rise high above the level of the choir- stalls. The tomb itself is made from a solid block of a dark blue stone. The figure of the bishop, carved in black marble, lies with his hands folded across his breast, clothed in his Episcopal robes and mitre, and crozier on his shoulder. At his feet are a vizor and a pair of gauntlets, these also carved in b

its great piety, its unfailing generosity, its noble statesmanship, was rudely taken in the nave of this

and is now, in eternal happiness, fulfilling the reward o

fact that the blue stone of which it is chiefly composed responds immediately to the purple and violet lights that fall from the great East window. On a summer day the blue

almost mystical triumph, felt as though he we

e might almost have cried, "when in the last savage encounter you faced them on the very steps of the altar, striking down t

lood in the now deserted Cathedral; he saw the coloured dusk creep forward and cover him. And then, in the darkness of the

his private enemies. Of those he had had many. It had been said of him that "he thought himself God--the proudest prelate on earth." Proud he may have been, but he had loved his Bishopric. It was in his time that the Saint Margaret's Chapel had been built, through his energy that the two great Western Towers had risen, because of him

ant; it was even said that he had once, in the plen

ast in stature, black-bearded, rejoicing in his physical stre

nave. Brandon moved once more across to the Lectern. He re

d, after many years' practice, the gift of sleeping during the Lessons and Se

his home. Lying back in his large arm-chair in front of the fire, his long legs stretched out before him, he could hear the rain beatin

s to the chairs were all a little faded, but this only gave them an additional dignity and repose. There were two large portraits of himself and Mrs.

aid to her and seemed to have no opinions of her own. She was simply "the wife of the Archdeacon." Mrs. Combermere considered her a "poor little fool." She had no real friends in Polchester, and it made little difference to any gathering whether she were there or not. She had been only once known to lose her temper in

it. Her whole mind was apparently engaged on this problem, and the Archdeacon did not care to-day that she did not answer his questions

the only girl in the house should be so often forgotten, but the Archdeacon did not care for girls, and Mrs. Brandon did not appear to think very often of any one except the Archdeacon. Falk, Joan's brother, now at Oxford, when he was at home had other things to do than consider Joan. She had gone, ever since she was twelve, to the Polchester High School for Girls, and there she was popular, and might have made many friends, had it not been that she could not invite her companions to her home. Her father did not like "noise in the house." She had been Captain of the Hockey team; the small girls in the school had all adored her. She had left the place six months ago and had come home to "help her mother." She had had, in honest fact, six months' loneliness, although no one knew that except herself. Her mother had not wanted h

ught him a most wonderful man, and secretly was swollen with pride that she was his daughter. It did not hurt her at all that he never took any notice of her. Why should he? Nor did she ever feel jealous of Falk, her father's favourite. That seemed to her quite natural. She had the idea, now most thoroughly exploded but then universally held in Pol

erberation of his deep voice the roll of the org

another for? And, anyway, he thinks I meddle with the School's affairs too much. Who wants to meddle with the School's affairs? I'm sure they're nothing b

, d

e what

, de

est obstinacy.) "There you are. It would be false modesty to deny that I've got the Chapter more or less in

, d

uch trouble, I expect--trouble in the way of delaying things, I mean. What we want is work done expeditiousl

r, I'm su

laugh described by his admirers as "Homeric," by his enemies as "ear-splitting." There was, however

p, bringing his long legs cl

om Falk to-da

, d

ks we haven't heard. Hop

there be w

Joan, and what have you been

rsations had been, in the past, moments of agony and terror to her, but since that morning when she had suddenly woken to a reali

gitation was still with her.

went to the Library this morning

one ever reads anythi

never have. Miss Milton sits on the new novels an

on t

der her skirt the other day when Mrs. Sampson asked f

. I'll just see to that. What's the use of being on the Library

! fath

I never heard anything so

conversation until the end o

riedly in, then stopped, with a sudden arr

one who saw him; it was not only that he feared, it seemed, no one and nothing, but that he went a step further than that, spending his life in defying every one and everythin

ad just driven up, after a long and tiresome journey, in an ancient cab through the pouring rain. The Archdeacon gazed at his son in

" he said at last.

sent down,"

family that, at that statement, Mrs. Brandon and

t do

! They wanted to

fted into a cry. "And you have the impertinence to come here and te

cked and you're a bit cooler. I wanted some tea, but I suppose that will have to wait. You just listen, father, and you'll find it

rned an

pain as though an adversary whom he completely despised