After breakfast he started out. A restless urgency drove him forth. The Chapter Meeting at which the new incumbent of Pybus was to be chosen was now only three days distant, and all the work in connection with that was completed--but Brandon could not be still. Some members of the Chapter he had seen over and over again during the last months, and had pressed Rex Forsyth's claims upon them without ceasing, but this thing had become a symbol to him now--a symbol of his fight with Ronder, of his battle for the Cathedral, of his championship, behind that, of the whole cause of Christ's Church. It seemed to him that if he were defeated now in this thing it would mean that God Himself had deserted him. At the mere thought of defeat his heart began to leap in his breast and the flags of the pavement to run before his eyes. But it could not be. He had been tested; like Job, every plague had been given to him to prove him true, but this last would shout to the world that his power was gone and that the Cathedral that he loved had no longer a place for him. And then--and then----- He would not, he must not, look. At the top of the High Street he met Ryle the Precentor. There had been a time when Ryle was terrified by the Archdeacon; that time was not far distant, but it was gone. Nevertheless, even though the Archdeacon were suddenly old and sick and unimportant, you never could tell but that he might say something to somebody that it would be unpleasant to have said. "Politeness all the way round" was Ryle's motto, and a very safe one too. Moreover, Ryle, when he could rise above his alarm for the safety of his own position, was a kindly man, and it really _was_ sad to see the poor Archdeacon so pale and tired, the scratch on his cheek, even now not healed, giving him a strangely battered appearance. And how would Ryle have liked Mrs. Ryle to leave him? And how would he feel if his son, Anthony (aged at present five), ran away with the daughter of a publican? And how, above all, would he feel did he know that the whole town was talking about him and saying "Poor Precentor!"? But perhaps the Archdeacon did _not_ know. Strange the things that people did not know about themselves!--and at that thought the Precentor went goose-fleshy all over, because of the things that at that very moment people might be saying about _him_ and he knowing none of them! All this passed very swiftly through Ryle's mind, and was quickly strangled by hearing Brandon utter in quite his old knock-you-down-if-you- don't-get-out-of-my-way voice, "Ha! Ryle! Out early this morning! I hope you're not planning any more new-fangled musical schemes for us!" Oh, well! if the Archdeacon were going to take that sort of tone with him, Ryle simply wasn't going to stand it! Why should he? To-day isn't six months ago.