a source of real distress to him at times--at other times he felt that it
had its uses). On the whole, however, he was satisfied with himself, his
appearance, his abilities, his wife, his family, and, above all, his
position in Polchester. This last was very splendid.

His position in the Cathedral, in the Precincts, in the Chapter, in the
Town, was unshakable.

He trusted in God, of course, but, like a wise man, he trusted also in
himself.

It happened that on a certain wild and stormy afternoon in October 1896
Brandon was filled with a great exultation. As he stood, for a moment, at
the door of his house in the Precincts before crossing the Green to the
Cathedral, he looked up at the sky obscured with flying wrack of cloud,
felt the rain drive across his face, heard the elms in the neighbouring
garden creaking and groaning, saw the lights of the town far beneath the
low wall that bounded the Precincts sway and blink in the storm, his heart
beat with such pride and happiness that it threatened to burst the body
that contained it. There had not been, perhaps, that day anything
especially magnificent to elate him; he had won, at the Chapter Meeting
that morning, a cheap and easy victory over Canon Foster, the only Canon
in Polchester who still showed, at times, a wretched pugnacious resistance
to his opinion; he had met Mrs. Combermere afterwards in the High Street
and, on the strength of his Chapter victory, had dealt with her haughtily;
he had received an especially kind note from Lady St. Leath asking him to
dinner early next month; but all these events were of too usual a nature
to excite his triumph.

No, there had descended upon him this afternoon that especial ecstasy that