should
come on Sunday and hear him preach. There have been times when I have
seen the women sob, and the men bow their heads. But it grows late,
sirs. It is not worth while opening that west door again. If you will
follow me, I will let you out by the sacristy. We will lock up together,
and leave this great building to darkness and the ghosts."

And ghosts indeed there seemed to be as we followed him up the aisle. He
put out the few lights that remained, until his torch alone guided our
footsteps, which sounded in the immense space, and disturbed the
mysterious silence by yet more mysterious echoes. Lights and shadows
cast by the torch flitted about like wings. The choir gates were closed,
and within them all was darkness and solemnity. Finally we entered the
sacristy, where again the surplices hanging up in rows looked strange
and suggestive. The old verger opened the door, extinguished his torch,
and we stood once more in the outside night, under the stars and the
sky.

"How often we come in for these experiences," said H.C. "How delightful
they are; full of a sacred beauty and solemnity. How few ever attempt to
enter a cathedral at night, and how much they lose. And yet," he mused,
"perhaps not so much as we imagine. If their souls responded to such
influences, they would seek them out. The needle is attracted to the
pole; like seeks like--and finds it. You cannot draw sweet water from a
bitter well."

The town was in darkness. The shops were now all closed, but lights
gleamed from many windows. The beautiful latticed panes we had found in
Morlaix were here very few and far between. Here and there we came upon
gabled outlines, but much that we saw seemed modern and unpicturesque;
very tame and commonplace after our late experience in the cathedral.
The streets were silent and deserted; all doors were closed; the people
of Quimper, like those of Morlaix, evidently carried out the good old
rule of retiring early. Occasionally we came upon a group of buildings,
or a solitary house standing out conspicuously amidst its fellows, which
promised well for the morrow, and made us "wish for the morning."

When we found our way back to the quay, all was in darkness. The fair
had put out its lights, closed its doors, and dismissed the assembly.
Where the people had gone to, we knew not; we had seen none of them. A
few cafes were still open, and their lights fell across the pavement and
athwart the roads, and gleamed upon th