ust
have seen it before somewhere. The wind was very cold, and the great
cross on the dome of the cathedral stood out like a beacon against flying
clouds.

St. Paul's churchyard was thronged with noisy, happy people, and down to
the last minute before the hour they shouted and joked and laughed. Then
there was a hush, the great crowds seemed to hold their breath as if they
had been a single living creature, and every face was turned upward to
the clock. The clock struck, the bells of the cathedral began to ring,
the people cheered and saluted each other and shook hands on every side,
and then the dense mass broke up.

Glory could have cried for joy of it all--it was so simple, so human, so
childlike. But she listened to the laughter and salutations of the people
about her and felt more lonely than the Bedouin in the desert; she
remembered the bubbling hopes that had carried her through the day, and
her heart fell low; she thought of the letter which she had posted home
on her way to the theatre, and two great tears came rolling from her
eyes.

The face of the monk tormented her, and suddenly she bethought herself
whose face it must have been. It must have been the face of Polly Love's
brother. He belonged to the Bishopsgate Fathers, and had once been a
patient in the hospital, and perhaps he was going there now on some
errand or urgent message--to the doctors or to----

"It was foolish not to leave my address when the porter asked me," she
thought. She would go back and do so. There could be no harm in that; and
if anything had really happened, if John----

"Happy New Year to you, my dear!"

Somebody in the drifting crowd was standing before her and blocking the
way. It was Agatha Jones in a mock seal-skin coat and big black hat
surmounted by black feathers, and with Charlie Wilkes (with his
diminutive cap pushed back from his oily fringe and pimpled forehead)
leaning heavily on her arm.

"Well, I never! Who'd have thought of meeting you in St. Paul's
churchyawd!"

Glory tried to laugh and to return the salutation over the noises of the
people and the clangour of the bells. And then Aggie put her face close,
as women do who are accustomed to talking in the streets, and said:
"Thought we'd seen the lahst of you, my dear, when you went off that
night sudden. Selling programmes somewhere else now?"

"Something of that sort," said Glory.

"I'm not. I've been left the old red church this fortnight and more.
Cha