The Cathedral

y-day

t too blue, the air is soft but with a touch of sharpness The valleys are pressed down and overflowing with flow

mer was close upon them. Doors were flung open and the gardens sinuously watered, summer clothes were dragged from their long confinement and anxiously overlooked, Mr. Martin, the stationer, hung a row of his coloured Polcheste

t had not quite the excitement and novelty that the Jubilee of 1887 had had; there was, perhaps, in London and the larger towns, something of a sense of repetition. But Polchester was far from the general highway and, although the picture of the wonderful ol

astle grounds, the Torchlight Procession, the Croquet Tournament, the School- children's Tea and the School Cricket-match. A fine programme,

a meeting of the town branch of the Committee, and the Bishop out at Carpledon summoned his ecclesiastics, and Joan found a note from Gladys Sampson beckoning her to the Sampson house to do her share of the glorious work. It had been decided by the Higher Powers that it would be a charming thing for some of the younge

her Cathedral towns, but there is no doubt that, thirty years ago, the lin

" but also the two daughters of Puddifoot's sister, Grace and Annie Trudon; the three daughters of Roger McKenzie, the town lawyer; little Betty Callen

rience of London, and had been even to Paris and Rome. Of the "Others," at this time, only Betty Callender, who had been born in India, and the Forresters had been farther, in all their lives, than Drymouth. Their lives were bound, and happily bound, by the Polche

y. For many of them Jane Eyre was still a forbidde

ster. They were at least a century nearer to Jane

ath women were absent. They overawed her and were so much older than th

le gossamer clouds of pale orange floated like feathers across the sky. The large dining-room table was cleared for action, and Gladys Sampson, very serious and important, stood at the far end of the room under a very bad oil-painting of her father, directing operations. The girls were dressed for the most part i

astnesses of the Sampson dining-room, now felt no shyness whatever but nodded quite casually

and we've got to do our very best. We haven't got a great deal of time between now and June the Twentieth, so we must work, and I propose that we come here every Tuesday and Friday afternoon, and when I say here I mean somebody or other's house, because of cour

iled and looked at the portrait of the Dean. Then on

e who does what? Very decent of you to ask us but w

for the different things they're to do and any on

r pale grey. The sun fell now in burning patches and squares across the room and the dim yellow blinds were pulled half-way across the windows. With this the room was shaded into a strong coloured

not tell what was happening. Family life had indeed become of late a mystery, and behind the mystery there was a dim sense of apprehension, apprehension that she had never felt in all her days before. As she sank into the tranquillity of the golden afternoon glow, with the soft white silk pas

ngs had from their dark thickets leapt out upon him, and he had proceeded to wrestle with them in the full presence of his family. Always, at last, he had been, victorious over them, the triumph had been publicly announced, "Te Deums"

rself on her father's happiness and peace of mind. She might have known the omens of

tinctive way, the trouble that lay behind those large round glasses and that broad indulgent smile. But now! Now they were having the name "Ronder" with their breakfast, t

went wrong in the Brandon house, in the Cathedral, in the town, her father was certain that Ronder was responsi

n this town I admire----" "What would this town be without----" "We're lucky, indeed, to have the Archdeacon----" And yet was there not behind all the

ess between them; she longed to be able to do something that would show him how strongly she was his partisan, to insult Canon Ronder in the market-place, to turn her back when he spoke to h

they seemed almost of an age he was strange to her like some one of foreign blood. She knew that she did not count in his scheme of life at all, that he never thought of her nor wanted her. She did not mind that, and even now she would have been tranquil about him had it not been for her mother's anxiety

story, if she looked into it too closely, did not show her any very optimistic colours. She had not seen Johnny St. Leath now for a fortnight, nor heard from him, and those precious words under the Arden Gate one ev

ether she had not concluded too much from his w

d her pale pointed face was always a little languid in expression, as though daily life were an exhausting affair and not intended for superior persons. She had been told, from a very early day, that her voice was "low and musical," so she always spoke in whispers which ga

ascinating whisper, "there's a lot

think so?"

the throne long enough, 'Ti

uch shocked by

people," said Jane. "Every one over seventy

aughed

y wouldn't wis

ry one was very gay from the triple sense that they were the elect of Pol

cy tossed

he'll be taking us to Lond

ndon. Of course I'd love to see the Queen, but it would probably be only for a moment, and all

a week in London and you can have your old Polchester for ever. What ever happens in Polc

ew," said Betty Callender,

he scorn of one who has alread

en carriage. She was with her. Mother says she's a Miss Daubeney from London--a

l scornfully. "How silly you are, Betty! You

o, and she had a blue silk parasol, and she was just

ays has to do just what that horr

onounced? Sentence had fallen? Miss Daubeney had arrived. She could hear the old Countess' v

distinctly to the earlier generation. She trembled at the thought of any publicity, of any thrusting herself forward, of any, even momentary, rebellion against her position. Of course Johnny belonged to this beautiful creature; she had always known, in her heart, that her dream was an impossible one. Nevertheless the room, th

ne who marries Johnny--to be shut up i

y solemnly and tried to

g on. Gladys came across

nough to-day," she said

home. She put her work on the table, fetch

. "Don't go, Joan.

mother----

and found herself close to

t the sight of him Joan was filled with hatred-- vehement, indignant hatred; she had never hated any one before, unless possibly it was Miss St. Clair, the French m

lly neat and correct, his linen spot

, the response that the whole room made to him. Th

Dean, nor pompous like Bentinck-Major, nor sycophantic like Ryle. He did not advance to them

She had never before, although for long now she had been conscious of his power, been so deeply aware of his connection with herself. It was as

Sampson cried, "come an

Callender on the head as he passed. "Are

tty was delighted.

He altered his tone for her, spe

t reply, and then feeling as though in an instant she would

nd bewildered, at the corner of Green Lane and Orange Street. Lost and bewildered because one emotion after another seemed suddenly to have seized upon her and taken her capt

to be concealing lamps within their branches. So thick a glow suffused the air that it was as though strangely coloured fruit,

guarded with a benevolent devotion the little city whose lights, stealing now upon the air, sprinkled the evening sky with a jewelled haze. No sound

all her troubles, that it understood that she must pass into new experiences, that it knew, none better indeed, how strange and terrifying that first realisation of real life could be, that it had itse

an the town's reassurance to her, but she was

as more perhaps a kind of jealousy because of her father that she felt. She put aside her own little troubles in a sudden rush of tenderness for her family. She wanted to protect them all and make them happy. But how could she make them happy if they wo

herself. She must conquer that, stamp upon it. It was foolish, hopeless

ll dusky and obscure. The lamp had

's t

slender figure, standing at the turn of the

n. I've just come fr

d be Falk. You didn't

other

g. As she poked her head into the little, dark, musty place, sh