In looking forward for Montagu Mr. Wycherly had learned to look back, no longer wholly in pain and shame, but sometimes in liveliest gratitude that there was so much to remember that was lovely and of good report. And the more he remembered, the more did action of many sorts seem imperative, and in the July, after he had confessed himself to Montagu, he went back to see Oxford once more. Back to the city, of perhaps all others in the civilised world, to fill the minds and hearts of her sons with an adoring passion of tenderness, of real filial affection. The love, that while it worships the virtues of a mother, is only strengthened by a perfect understanding of her weakness, her humanity, her beautiful inconsistency. The great quadrangles spread themselves empty and silent in the sunlight: the fields, untenanted of "young barbarians all at play" stretched green and peaceful to the river. But the gray old buildings smiled their gracious welcome as of old, with that wonderful mediæval friendliness that neither time nor absence can change or lessen. And just as a mother who gets her son home after long absence in a far country will talk fondly of the dear, by-gone, boyish days—remembering only such things as made her glad and proud—so Oxford whispered kind, friendly things to Mr. Wycherly, and he was comforted. The day after his arrival he went to Matins in Christ Church choir, and there seemed something peculiarly applicable in the psalms for that, the twenty-seventh day. For lo! had he not returned to his Jerusalem, well content to pray for her peace? Peace be within thy walls: and plenteousness within thy palaces. For my brethren and companions’ sakes: I will wish thee prosperity. Yea, because of the house of the Lord our God: I will seek to do thee good. *CHAPTER XXII* *VALE* Twilight and evening bell And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell— When I embark. LORD TENNYSON. When Montagu first went to Winchester he was something of a puzzle both to masters and boys, although his housemaster, an old pupil of Mr. Wycherly, knew enough of the boy’s curious upbringing to explain matters somewhat to his colleagues: "He knows far more classics than the average sixth-form boy, and practically nothing else. Of the world he knows about as much as a child of three, and of games and other boys, less than any old maid in the kingdom—a most difficult boy to place. It’s a very risky experiment." And Montagu’s housemaster shook his head, for he felt worried about the child.