He took the old housekeeper’s advice and called to inquire again later in the week, only to meet with a similar rebuff. Nor could he bring himself to speak at home of the purgatory he was passing through. His mother hoped from his silence that he had outgrown his love to Hilary. His father guessed something of the true state of the case, but feared that words, however well meant, might only increase his suffering. Joscelyn Heyworth, however, rallied him on his depression, not knowing that “the lady named Hilary” was a citizen of Hereford. “Why are you in the dumps?” he asked, one sunshiny afternoon, as the two walked together down Broad Street. “You should be in high spirits now that you are among your old friends once more, and with your parents as keenly interested in the campaign as you are yourself. I would give something to stand in your shoes.” And for a moment his bright face was clouded with bitter memories. “Many of my old friends look on me as a traitor for whom hanging were too good,” said Gabriel. “You forget that Hereford has ever been devoted to the King’s cause, and that such of us as fight against his tyranny are here but a small and unpopular minority.” “’Tis to be hoped the army will not long be kept here,” said Joscelyn. “The men need to be in active service; already they seem to be waxing unruly,” and he glanced at some boisterous soldiers gathered about a fanatical dark-browed man who harangued them from the vantage ground of an inverted barrow, and with bawling voice and vehement gestures was attracting quite a crowd. “Why!” exclaimed Gabriel, “that is none other than Peter Waghorn, the fellow I saw at Bosbury. What a frenzy the man is working himself into! See how he points to the Cathedral as though he wished to destroy the whole place!” “Oh, don’t linger,” said Joscelyn Heyworth. “I loathe these fanatic preachers. What was that he said? The pious work of destruction? Have they been urging on the mob as they did at Winchester? Sir William Waller will be ill pleased if they have done as much damage here. Let us come in and see.” Gabriel told him Waghorn’s story as they crossed the green, and approached the beautiful parvise porch at the north-west. They had just entered it when the inner door leading into the cathedral was hastily opened, and the figure of a girl clad in pale puce, with a hat and cloak of tan-coloured velvet, suddenly appeared. Her rich brown curls, her exquisite colouring, but above all, her dark expressive eyes, made Joscelyn look at her a second time; she was evidently in a state of suppressed indignation, and when she caught sight of Gabriel Harford, her wrath flashed into a sudden flame. He saluted her with great respect, but averting her face she declined to acknowledge him even by the most distant curtsey, and would have passed rapidly through the porch had he not stood in front of her, blocking her way.