And so they took their places again, and amid low sobs and silent weeping, gave the Great Physician thanks. Strongly nerved and strained to the uttermost, the sudden relaxation took the form of feebleness; and even Caleb Field himself, whose stout soul had never quailed amid all these terrors, did now, his daughter weeping delicious tears beside him, with faltering voice and quickened breathing, pour out the flood of his warm thanksgiving before his God. And when they had taken their morning meal, they went out together to St. Margaret’s with lightened hearts--hearts that began timidly to resume their old functions of joy and hoping. As they approached Westminster, they observed a group of men a little way before them, whose mood was clearly evident by the congratulations they exchanged--congratulations which were more of gesture than of speech. They dispersed before Master Field, his daughter, and Sir Philip came up; but one who met them, a stranger, paused to stretch out his hand, and say: “Have ye heard the news? God be thanked!” “Yea, brother, and amen,” said Master Field, grasping the extended hand of the stranger. “Let us not forget His goodness, lest a worse thing befall us.” The man passed on. The universal gladness, like the universal sorrow, made all brethren. They were passing through a narrow street. A woman stood at a high window of one of those old picturesque gabled houses which exist among us no longer. “Neighbor,” she cried, “good neighbor Waterman, heard ye the news?” An opposite window opened slowly; at it stood a languid old man, with a girl’s face looking eagerly over his shoulder. “What news, good dame?” said the old man. “Truly, when there can be none but evil ones, it is best to have dull ears.” “Good news, thank God,” said the other: “the bill is near two thousand less, as my good man says; and an it rose swift, we may hope it will sink swifter, I wot. God be thanked!--we e’en counted ourselves dead folk; but the Lord is merciful.” “Ah, grandfather,” cried the girl, “we will see my mother again. Thank God! thank God!” The old man’s lip was quivering; his eyelids drooped heavily. “And is it so? Is there any hope? For the city, and for the young child! God be praised, for He is very good.” And as they went on, wherever two strangers met, wherever human life remained, with tears and tremulous rejoicing, the people lifted up their voices in thanks to God. In front of the abbey, Master Chester met them. For the first time, the quaint and courtly gentleman was discomposed; lights and shadows, in a hundred shifting combinations, pursued each other over his vivacious features. He was too greatly moved at first to speak; he only held out his hands.