The music heard by Cyril during his mental conflict there years before is being played.  Cyril thinks Lee’s death and Henry’s suffering the work of Fate, since in wearing Everard’s clothes he had no thought of impersonating him, but only of avoiding the publicity of clerical dress; nor had he dreamed of meeting or of struggling with Ben Lee.  Meaning to go to Alma, who is already dead, later on that night, Cyril preaches upon the sin of Judas, with great power and passion.  “I charge you, my brothers, beware of self-deception!” Everard pities him; he feels that his own eighteen years’ sufferings were nothing in comparison with Cyril’s secret tortures.  Suddenly the preacher stops with a low cry of agony.  He has caught Everard’s eye.  He wishes the cathedral would fall and crush him.  “I am not well,” he says, leaving the pulpit.  Everard writes him a letter that night, saying he has long known and forgiven all; he asks Cyril to use his own secret repentance and unspoken agony for the spiritual help of others.

The dean receives and reads the letter at breakfast next morning.  He then shuts himself alone in his study for several hours.  Then he takes leave of his blind son and only surviving daughter—­all the other children died in infancy—­and sends them away to a relative.  Everard, after waiting vainly for Cyril’s answer, goes to Malbourne.  He travels in the same carriage as the judge who had sentenced him, and tells him that he was innocent, but is unable to clear himself.  Nobody recognises him at Malbourne.  He hears his case discussed at the village inn, where he stops an hour, too much agitated to go to the rectory.  “He never done it,” is the general verdict.

Then follows the pathetic meeting of Henry and Lilian.  Mr. Maitland had gradually ceased to believe in his guilt.  “But I could never forgive the man who let you suffer in his stead,” he says.  Lilian shudders at this.  Cyril is discussed.  “Our dear Chrysostom; our golden-mouth!”

Next day, Sunday, old friends welcome Everard.  He has a great reception from the villagers.  Lilian presses him to say who was the guilty man.  Mark Antony, the cat, is still alive.  “Only once did Mark make a mistake,” she says, “when he ran after that grey figure in the dusk.  Else he never ran after any but myself and Cyril.  Henry, you know who killed Ben Lee.  Tell me,” she sobs, “oh, tell me it was not he!” Henry cannot tell her.  Lilian is deeply distressed.  “His burden was heavier than mine,” Henry says.  He comforts her.

The same day, at morning prayer, Cyril enters the cathedral.  The organ is playing Mendelssohn’s “O Lord, have mercy upon me!” The cathedral is packed with people of all degrees, known and unknown, friends and strangers.  The thought that all these will soon know his shame turns Cyril sick.  The faces of all those he has injured rise and reproach him.  He goes through another great spiritual conflict, but his soul emerges at last, stripped of