Alone, in a sequestered place, surrounded by vestiges of old time and decay, it rather has a tendency to call a shudder into being.

He makes for the better-lighted streets, and resolves as he walks on to say nothing of this to-night, but to mention it to Jack (who alone calls him Ned), as an odd coincidence, to-morrow; of course only as a coincidence, and not as anything better worth remembering.
Still, it holds to him, as many things much better worth remembering never did.

He has another mile or so, to linger out before the dinner-hour; and, when he walks over the bridge and by the river, the woman's words are in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the troubled water, in the flickering lights.

There is some solemn echo of them even in the Cathedral chime, which strikes a sudden surprise to his heart as he turns in under the archway of the gatehouse.
And so _he_ goes up the postern stair.
* * * * * John Jasper passes a more agreeable and cheerful day than either of his guests.

Having no music-lessons to give in the holiday season, his time is his own, but for the Cathedral services.