Henry Arkell, ever ready to oblige, left his stall, proceeded to the organ-loft, and delivered the message. The organist was wroth: and but for those two little old gentlemen, whom he knew were present, he would have refused to change the anthem, which had been put up by the dean. "Where's Cliff, this afternoon?" asked he, sharply, alluding to the other bass. "I don't know," replied Henry. "He is not at service." The organist took up one of the anthem books with a jerk, and turned over its leaves. He came to the anthem, "I know that my Redeemer liveth," from _the Messiah_. "Are you prepared to do justice to this?" he demanded. "Yes, I believe I am," replied Henry. "But----" "But me no buts," interrupted the organist, who was always very short with the choristers. "'I know that my Redeemer liveth. Pitt.'" As Henry Arkell descended the stairs, Mr. Wilberforce was concluding the first lesson. So instead of giving notice of the change of anthem to Mr. Wilberforce and the singers on the cantori side, he left that until later, and made haste to his own stall, to be in time for the soli parts in the Cantate Domino, which was being sung that afternoon in place of the Magnificat. In passing the bench of king's scholars, a foot was suddenly extended out before him, and he fell heavily over it, striking his head on the stone step that led to the stalls of the minor canons. A sexton, a verger, and one or two of the senior boys, surrounded, lifted, and carried him out. The service proceeded; but his voice was missed in the Cantate; Aultane's proved but a poor substitute. "I wonder whether the anthem's changed?" debated the bass to the contre tenor. "Um--no," decided the latter. "Arkell was coming straight to his place. Had there been any change, he would have gone and told Wilberforce and the opposites. Paul is in a pet, and won't alter it." "Then he'll play the solo without my accompaniment," retorted the bass, loftily. Henry Arkell was only stunned by the fall, and before the conclusion of the second lesson, he appeared in the choir, to the surprise of many. After giving the requisite notice of the change in the anthem to Mr. Wilberforce and Aultane, he entered his stall; but his face was white as the whitest marble. He sang, as usual, in the Deus Misereatur. And when the time for the anthem came, Mr. Wilberforce rose from his knees to give it out. "The anthem is taken from the burial service."