adox, of the
Provost's preaching! Just opposite to where he sat now with Langham,
Grey had sat that first afternoon; the freshman's curious eyes had been
drawn again and again to the dark massive head, the face with its
look of reposeful force, of righteous strength. During the lesson from
Corinthians, Elsmere's thoughts were irrelevantly busy with all sorts of
mundane memories of the dead. What was especially present to him was a
series of Liberal election meetings in which Grey had taken a warm
part, and in which he himself had helped just before he took orders. A
hundred, odd, incongruous details came back to Robert now with poignant
force. Grey had been to him at one time primarily the professor, The
philosopher, the representative of all that was best in the life of the
University; now, fresh from his own grapple with London and its life,
what moved him most was the memory of the citizen, the friend and
brother of common man, the thinker who had never shirked action in the
name of thought, for whom conduct had been from beginning to end the
first reality.

The procession through the streets afterward which conveyed the body
of this great son of modern Oxford to its last resting-place in the
citizens' cemetery on the western side of the town, will not soon be
forgotten, even in a place which forgets notoriously soon. All the
University was there, all the town was there side by side with men
honorably dear to England, who had carried with them into one or other
of the great English careers the memory of the teacher, were men who
had known from day to day the cheery modest helper in a hundred local
causes; side by side with the youth of Alma Mater went the poor of
Oxford; tradesmen and artisans followed or accompanied the group of
gowned and venerable figures, representing the Heads of Houses and the
Professors, or mingled with the slowly pacing crowds of Masters;
while along the route groups of visitors and merrymakers, young men in
flannels or girls in light dresses, stood with suddenly grave faces here
and there, caught by the general wave of mourning, and wondering what
such a spectacle might mean.

Robert, losing sight of Langham as they left the chapel, found his
arm grasped by young Cathcart, his correspondent. The man was a junior
Fellow who had attached himself to Grey during the two preceding years
with especial devotion. Robert had only a slight knowledge of him, but
there was something in his voice and g