Freda’s face was gravely intent.  She was conscious of a growing interest in and affection for Anthony Dalaber since his own fervent declaration of love towards herself.  She had given him no definite promise, but she felt that henceforth their lives must of necessity be more or less linked together.  She could not be indifferent to aught that concerned him; the stability of his faith and of his character must mean very much to her in the future.

But for the moment it was difficult to think of these things.  Joyous springtide was on the world; May Day, with all its gay doings, was close at hand; and graver thoughts or anxious fears alike seemed out of place.

The girls were up with the lark on May Day morning, donning their holiday robes of white taffeta and spotless lawn, cunningly embroidered by their own skilful fingers, Freda’s in silver and Magdalen’s in gold thread.  They each had girdles of silver and gold cord respectively, and snowy headgear embroidered in like fashion.  They looked as fresh and as lovely as the morning itself, and their father’s eyes shone with loving pride as they presented themselves before him.

“We grow young again in our children,” he said, as they sallied forth just as the east was growing rosy with the harbinger of dawn.

The dew lay thick upon the grass, whitening it with a glittering mantle; but the paths were dry and firm, and the girls held up their dainty draperies and tripped along so lightly that their white leather embroidered shoes gathered no soil by the way.  Then, just as the clock of Cardinal College boomed out the hour, a chorus of sweet, clear voices up high in the air broke into merry song, just as the first early sunbeam struck across the sky, and lighted up the group of singers half hidden behind the low battlements.

The meadows below were thronged with gownsmen from the various colleges, as well as by crowds of townsfolk, all in holiday attire, who had streamed out of the gates to hear the singing.  Later in the day there might probably be brawling and disputes betwixt the two parties—­“town and gown,” as they were later dubbed.  But the early morning hour seemed to impose peace upon all spirits, and there was no hooting or brawling or rioting of any kind; but a decorous silence was observed, all faces being lifted upwards, as the sweet strains came floating from above, seeming to welcome the dawning day and the joyous season of sunshine and love.

“That must surely be Stephen Radley,” spoke Freda in a whisper, as one voice, more rich and mellow than the others, seemed to detach itself and float upwards in a flood of melody.  All eyes were fixed aloft, all ears strained to catch the sounds.  The power and extraordinary sweetness of the voice held the multitude spellbound.

“The cardinal’s new singing man!” was the whisper passed from mouth to mouth; and when at length the singers emerged from the little door at the base of the tower, there were many who crowded round Radley to compliment him upon his wonderful performance.