Headley, who sulkily refused the invitations, betook himself to a
window and sat drumming on the glass, while Ambrose stood leaning on
the dragon balustrade, with his eyes dreamily following the merry
lads out at the gateway.

"You are not for such gear, sir," said a voice at his ear, and he
saw the scathed face of Tibble Steelman beside him.

"Never greatly so, Tibble," answered Ambrose. "And my heart is too
heavy for it now."

"Ay, ay, sir. So I thought when I saw you in St. Faith's. I have
known what it was to lose a good father in my time."

Ambrose held out his hand. It was the first really sympathetic word
he had heard since he had left Nurse Joan.

"'Tis the week's mind of his burial," he said, half choked with
tears. "Where shall I find a quiet church where I may say his De
profundis in peace?"

"Mayhap," returned Tibble, "the chapel in the Pardon churchyard
would serve your turn. 'Tis not greatly resorted to when mass time
is over, when there's no funeral in hand, and I oft go there to read
my book in quiet on a Sunday afternoon. And then, if 'tis your
will, I will take you to what to my mind is the best healing for a
sore heart."

"Nurse Joan was wont to say the best for that was a sight of the
true Cross, as she once beheld it at Holy Rood church at