"I can't get out," said Sterne's starling, looking through the bars of his cage. "I will get out," said Hugh Scarlett to himself, seeing no bars, but half conscious of a cage. "I will get out," he repeated, as his hansom took him swiftly from the house in Portman Square, where he had been dining, towards that other house in Carlton House Terrace, whither his thoughts had travelled on before him, out-distancing the trip-clip-clop, trip-clip-clop of the horse. It was a hot night in June. Hugh had thrown back his overcoat, and the throng of passers-by in the street could see, if they cared to...

'Yet to be loved makes not to love again; Not at my years, however it hold in youth.' Tennyson. The cathedral was crammed. The tall slender arches seemed to spring out of a vast sea of human heads. The orchestra and chorus had gradually merged into one person: one shout of praise, one voice of prayer, one wail of terror. The Elijah was in mid-career, sailing like a man-of-war upon the rushing waves of music.