resolve taken, he went to breakfast at the college commons, and thence
to chapel.

Attendance at chapel, he had discovered, was obligatory upon the
students and upon those clerical members of the faculty who conducted
the services. Personally he was drawn thither by the peculiar flavour
which the exercises gave his daily life. It was pleasant to sit alone
in his pew against the wall above the tiers of students, to watch the
morning sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, and to
listen to the antiphonal singing of a fine old Rouen meditation.
Occasionally the services began with a Sapphic ode by Gregory the
Great, whose opening line, _Ecce iam noctis tenuatur umbra_, set to
music from the Salisbury Hymnal, resounded through the arches of the
chapel like a call to the duties of the day. In the institution from
which he had recently come, the jealousy of rival sects had resulted in
the complete elimination of all outward forms of worship; and he found
the change grateful. There was novelty and charm in a service attended
wholly by men, and in the music, as mediaeval in character as the
architecture of the Hall itself. Like most of his contemporaries,
Leigh could by no means have formulated his religious beliefs, but in
all the chaos of modern thought he still retained a certain piety, in
the old Roman sense of the word, a loyalty to the traditions of his
fathers which he would never have dignified by the name of faith.

He was happily unconscious of the fact that the eyes of many of the
students were fixed upon him with keen observation. The self-contained
young professor was as much an unknown quantity as any he asked them to
find in the recitation-room. They were baffled by the impersonal
attitude he had brought from the university, where the individual
counted for little, and were inclined to attribute it to a disposition