Montjoy, in his castle yard, played for exercise at buffets with the squire Ralph, then turned to castle wall, and with his arms resting upon stone parapet, looked downward and outward, gargoyle-wise. But he was not such; he was living knight, struggling to reach Heavenly City. It was snowing. Montjoy, wrapped in mantle, drew hood over head and let it snow. The flakes fell thickly, large and white. Castle rock dropped black to castle hill that was whitening. Hill met Middle Forest that piled toward hill. The roofs were high, the roofs were steep. They were brown, they were black, they were whitening. Where were chimneys rose feathers of smoke. These were houses full and well-to-do. There were chimneys unfeathered. Sweet--sweet, deep--deep, went Saint Ethelred’s bell. Sweet--sweet, deep--deep, the bell of the Poor Clares. Sweet--sweet, deep--deep, the bell of the small Carmelite house. The snow was a veil, but he saw the river and the whitening bridge. Across, Saint Leofric’s mount might hardly be seen, might be guessed, as it were--cloud friary, cloud church, cloud houses around, all set in a cloud. Thick, thick fell the snow in great flakes. Sweet--sweet, deep--deep rang the bells. He thought he could hear Saint Leofric’s. On a clear day when the wind was right, he could hear from this wall, far and thin, the bells of Silver Cross. To-day it could not be for this ever-passing, ever-present wall in white motion. Yet he imaged the hearing. Silver Cross--Westforest up Wander--Saint Leofric--Saint Ethelred--Poor Clares--Carmelite--they rang, and it was Christmas season. Montjoy’s dark and serious eyes grew misty. “We strive and buffet--cross joys, cross wills--yet, O true Lord, every bell is sweet! Even Saint Leofric’s--” He gripped with energy the stone coping. “But it is so despite thee, Hugh, despite thy lying that one day shall choke thee!” Silver Cross bells swung to the inner sense. They chimed, they rang unearthly clear and sweet, they rang clean. “Faulty is the time, and Silver Cross has been faulty--but never and never and never has it been nor will it be branded thief--as you, O Hugh, have branded that which was given you in charge!” The snow fell, the snow fell. The roofs whitened, whitened. The smoke feathers that had been pale against dark now were dark against pale. The river and the bridge began to be hidden.