In late August of the next year, Thomasina came slowly across the green from the Lister house toward the campus gate. Mrs. Lister had begged her to stay longer, but she had felt a need for quietness. Mrs. Lister had been talking about Basil; she had not yet exhausted all possibilities for conversation in his strange posthumous fame, or in his attachment to Thomasina, so long unsuspected. She did not ask many questions at one time of Thomasina; they came slowly, a question or two this week, another question next month. Sometimes she wept. "There are times when I can see just how I thought that dreadful thing about Basil and there are other times when I just cannot understand!" "I wouldn't think of it," said Thomasina cheerfully. "And, anyway, Mary Alcestis, you didn't hurt any one but yourself." A flood of tears choked Mrs. Lister's voice. "I could explain it to Basil. He was always very kind and understanding." She looked at Thomasina with a sort of angry astonishment. "You are always so calm, and I--I am homesick to see Basil. I shall never be altogether at peace until I see him." "Yes," said Thomasina, "I can understand that." "You ought to be with Richard as much as you can," said Mrs. Lister. "In another month he will have gone back to New York." Thomasina smiled. Across from the chapel drifted the sound of music. Richard had spent a day inside the old organ and had coaxed and wheedled it into a new sound. He was now on the organ bench with Eleanor beside him. For Richard at his happiest moments there was still a favorite form of expression, the chants of his boyhood. With full organ he sang the Ambrosian Hymn. The Gregorian music, the summer evening, Richard's voice--Thomasina was never to forget them. "We believe that Thou shalt come to be our Judge: We therefore pray Thee, help Thy servants: whom Thou hast redeemed with Thy precious blood. Make them to be numbered with Thy saints: in glory ever-lasting.... O Lord, have mercy upon us: have mercy upon us. O Lord, let Thy mercy be upon us: as our trust is in Thee." Then Richard established a deep and majestic foundation for his clear tenor: "O Lord, in Thee have I trusted: let me never be confounded!" "She is a nice girl," said Mrs. Lister, her voice trembling. Music was still terrible to Mary Alcestis. "I am satisfied. I believe she will make a good wife to Richard. He wants her to write, but I don't believe she thinks much about writing now. And her mother is a nice woman," added Mrs. Lister. "She has excellent ideas and she has trained Eleanor."