ilding varies but little with the seasons;
going into it in winter, it seems warm, in summer it is very cold. On
that day there were not many people in the nave, though a soft sound of
unceasing footsteps broke the stillness. Very far away an occasional
strain of music floated on the air from the Chapel of the Choir, the
last on the left before the transept is reached. Lord Redin walked
leisurely in the direction of the sound.

The chapel was full, and the canons were intoning the psalms of the
office. At the conclusion of each one the choir sang the 'Gloria' from
the great organ loft on the right. It chanced that there were a number
of foreigners on that day, and they had filled all the available space
within the gate, and there was a small crowd outside, pressing as close
as possible in order to hear the voices more distinctly. Lord Redin was
taller than most men, and looking over the heads of the others he saw
Francesca Campodonico's pale profile in the thick of the press. She
evidently wished to extricate herself, and she seemed to be suffering
from the closeness, for she pressed her handkerchief nervously to her
lips, and her eyes were half closed. Lord Redin forced his way to her
without much consideration for the people who hindered him. A few
minutes later he brought her out on the side towards the transept.

"Thank you," said Francesca. "I should like to sit down. I had almost
fainted--there was a woman next to me who had musk about her."

They went round the pillar of the dome to the south transept where there
are almost always a number of benches set along the edges of a huge
green baize carpet. They sat down together on the end of one of the
seats.

"We can go back, by and bye, and hear the music, if you like," said
Francesca. "The psalms will last some time longer."

"I would rather sit here and talk, since I have had the good luck to
meet you," answered Lord Redin, resting his elbows on his knees, and
idly poking the green carpet with the end of his stick. "I went to your
house, and they told me that you would very probably be here."

"Yes. I often come. But you know that, for we have met here before. I
only stay at home on Sundays when it rains."

"Oh! Is that the rule?"

"Yes, if you call it a rule," answered Francesca.

"I like to know about the things you do, and how you spend your life,"
said the Scotchman, thoughtfully.

"Do you? Why? There is nothing very interesting about my existence, i