CHAPTER VII.
THE PULPIT.
Before morning it rained hard again; but it cleared at sunrise, and the first day of the week found the world new-washed.

Glaston slept longer than usual, however, for all the shine, and in the mounting sun looked dead and deserted.

There were no gay shop-windows to reflect his beams, or fill them with rainbow colors.

There were no carriages or carts, and only, for a few moments, one rider.

That was Paul Faber again, on Ruber now, aglow in the morning.