THE chimes of the cathedral had just announced the hour of six when the train left the station, and passing the tall chimneys which were overshadowed by the cathedral towers steamed out into the country beyond the town. The July day was sinking into evening, an evening light that was soft and mellow in spite of the line of stormcloud above the cathedral. It was the first bright day that had been known for many weeks, and all available hands had been turned to work upon the hay which, green and damp still from recent experiences, was lying spread or in haycocks on the ground. Here and there, on soil close to the river’s brink, the masses of purple loosestrife made a glow of colour; or in some uncut field where the grass was short and brown the dark red cows were pasturing quietly; or now and then one, unconsciously picturesque, would be standing on the bank of the river, a distinct picture there. The train steamed onwards with its scanty freight of passengers, between the lines of the river and the canal, in the midst of the quiet fields and the mellow evening light. The freight of passengers, as I have said, was scanty, for indeed not many had left the town that evening--the foundrymen, even those who lodged in villages, having, for the most part, tramped off to their homes an hour before; whilst, as it was Thursday, and therefore not market-day, no women with market-baskets were to be expected in the train. Some few, however, were returning from their friends; and some workmen had lingered for the advantage of the ‘ride;’ while there was also, of course, a small proportion of those who were journeying to some distant town, some of these being strangers much interested in the cathedral, and others less interested inhabitants of the city. All these different classes of people were represented, at any rate, in one third-class railway carriage--a railway carriage in which we must journey too. A dark gipsy-looking woman, with fierce eyebrows and eyes, who had a dark little girl by her side, seemed to be a stranger to the town, for she sat by one of the windows and with excited gestures pointed out the cathedral to the child in the corner opposite, whilst she was observed placidly by a motherly tradesman’s wife who was conveying to her daughter in a distant village some parcels of groceries from her husband’s shop. In another corner, neatly dressed and quiet, was a young woman who had the appearance of the wife of a village workman; and opposite to her a lad in working-clothes, pale, grimy, and over-tired, lounged at his ease. These passengers did not appear to know each other, and conversation did not flow easily; with the exception of one or two spasmodic efforts, which fell back rapidly into silence. These had been made by the gipsy-looking woman, who seemed to be one of those people who are disposed to talk.