Nor was it a small testimony to the boy who had been
senior in the room, that Clement found one or two other such little
tables, evidently for private prayer. He had never believed such
things could be out of St. Matthew's, nor where the books were not
more of his own exclusive type than were Lance's; and perhaps there
was some repentance for harsh judgment in his spirit as he knelt on
by that little table long after Mr. Harewood, near midnight, had read
a few prayers and gone to his house.
When Clement stood up, his sister made him lie down, as well as his
long legs would permit, on one of the other beds, where he soon fell
asleep; while she sat on, where she could see the spire rising aloft
into the pale blue of the summer night's sky, while the perfect
stillness was only broken by the quarterly chiming of the clock, re-
echoed from its fellow in the town-hall. Every window and door was
open, but the air was heated and oppressive till the early dewy
coolness before dawn crept in, making her bend over Lance to cover
him less slightly. Then she met his eyes, heavy and bloodshot, but
with himself in them.
'Wilmet, is that you?' he said, in a wondering tone.
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