tten Guy Fawkes.

Two days later, and Wells had resumed its wonted aspect. The November
day was one of exceptional beauty. The sky was blue, the air soft and
balmy, and the sunshine lay upon the peaceful city, once more the City
of Rest, which the good Bishop had called it when he first viewed the
scene of his future labours as chief pastor of the diocese of Bath and
Wells.

The noise and tumult of the fifth of November seemed now like a troubled
dream. Once more the only sounds which broke the silence were the chime
of bells for service, the trickling of streams of water, the cawing of
rooks in the elm trees by the moat, the chatter of the Jackdaws as they
swung in and out of their nests on the cathedral towers. All within and
around the Palace was calm and quiet.

And in the market square every sign of the late uproar was removed, the
_debris_ cleared away; the cry of a child, the foot-fall of a
pedestrian, or the low rumble of a distant cart, was heard with that
wonderful distinctness which is born of surrounding stillness. Here and
there a word was exchanged with a customer by the master of a shop, who,
standing at the door, looked out upon the world with that quiet patient
expectation of custom, unknown in busy, populous towns.

As the Bishop's carriage drove through the market-place, several
figures appeared at the doors of the shops. The carriage was watched
out of sight, the heads of the watchers were turned right and left, and
then the figures disappeared again, like those weather-wise men and
women in the old-fashioned barometers now, like many other quaint
devices almost unknown.

If the day were fair and beautiful in Wells, it was doubly beautiful in
the country. Joyce felt its influence, and, for the first time since her
father's death, she sang gently to herself as she went about her
household duties.

Since she had received Gilbert Arundel's letter, a ray of brightness had
pierced the cloud. She had not answered it, for he had asked for no
answer. And Joyce, in the sweet simplicity of her faith in him told
herself, that she had given her promise not to forget him, and that in
that promise he was resting till the time came for him to ask her that
question, which he said he must ask, and to present the petition which
he hoped she would grant.

Of course she was ready to give him what he asked for, but there was to
her nature, always trusting and transparent, no hardship in waiting.

"If I doubted