With the different stages of the service Wellfield forgot his troubles. It brought back associations of youth and pleasure, of music and student-days—associations in nowise connected with Wellfield, with his present life and surroundings—rather it led him to forget them, which he was only too willing to do. The ritual was gorgeous, the music magnificent, the choir and the organist first-rate. It soothed him, calmed him, eased him, as all such observances must soothe and ease those who can accept the principles which give rise to them. On their knees they knelt, and again and again sounded, in strains of exquisite supplication, the great cry, common to all humanity—_Dona nobis pacem_! Ay! give us peace; though every moment we are off our knees we may be doing, thinking, planning, hoping that which will destroy peace, yet, Power that we invoke, heed not that, but, since we fall on our knees, and set it to music, and are for the moment in earnest—‘Give us peace!’ It is a cry common to all; and those who pin their faith on creeds imagine that it will be answered. Perhaps the conviction saves some from madness, and others from blank despair—lulls some consciences, shoots a ray of hope into some hearts—makes their lives bearable to those who believe that peace comes from a source outside themselves—but remains a delusion all the same. To-night, it had the effect of a drug upon Jerome Wellfield’s conscience. _Dona nobis pacem!_ Surely there would be some way ‘shown’ to him out of it all. _Dona nobis pacem!_ This strife could not be meant to go on for ever. For once in his life, he prayed—prayed from his very heart—‘Give us peace!’ Somerville, who took no part in the service, watched him curiously from his place, in a somewhat retired corner. The keen-eyed, quick-witted priest rapidly noted the points of resemblance between Jerome Wellfield and his two companions. Both the latter belonged to old Roman Catholic families, and bore names of world-wide celebrity; both were amongst the eldest and most advanced of the students, and already showing signs of manhood, in deep voices and a dark line on the upper lip; they might, therefore, justly be compared with Wellfield. All three had the same high-bred pride of bearing, the pale, rather disdainful, features; the same distinctly haughty carriage of head and shoulders—to each and all was common a certain dreamy _schwärmerisch_ expression, indefinable, but palpable—an expression which any acute observer must have noted.