hich accompanies the waking moments on the morning after the
great discovery. Leigh wandered for some time in this imaginary
paradise, where everything seemed not only possible, but actually
accomplished. His rising, however, shook some of these iridescent
colours from his thoughts, until they gradually began to assume the
more sober hue of fact, a change like that which he now discovered had
come over the outside world.

The storm, which had promised to be wild and spectacular, had somehow
miscarried in the night, and instead of pelting showers and tossing
branches he saw a pale grey wall of mist against his windows. All
excitement had gone from the atmosphere, leaving the dreary certainty
that the mist would presently clear only to condense into a slow,
persistent, autumn rain. It is conceivable that he would not have
exchanged his waking dreams so quickly for more definite thoughts and
speculations had his eyes rested upon the blue hills of the western
skyline, for he was peculiarly susceptible to the moods of nature.
There being now practically no outside world to lure his fancy on, he
began to think of his actual situation, and to ask himself what he
intended to do with regard to the man in whom Miss Wycliffe had taken
such an interest. If her plan appeared quixotic to him now, he feared
that on second thoughts it might seem no less so to her, and he
resolved to do the thing she desired, and to gain thereby a common
interest with her, before she might discourage the attempt. This
resolve taken, he went to breakfast at the college commons, and thence
to chapel.

Attendance at chapel, he had discovered, was obligatory upon the
students and upon those clerical members of the faculty who conducted
the services. Personally he was drawn thither by the peculiar flavour
which the exercises gave his daily life. It was pleasant to sit alone
in his pew against the wall above the tiers of students, to watch the
morning sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, and to
listen to the antiphonal singing of a fine old Rouen meditation.
Occasionally the services began with a Sapphic ode by Gregory the
Great, whose opening line, _Ecce iam noctis tenuatur umbra_, set to
music from the Salisbury Hymnal, resounded through the arches of the
chapel like a call to the duties of the day. In the institution from
which he had recently come, the jealousy of rival sects had resulted in
the complete elimination of all outw