'We are quite convinced that you have deserved it,' repeated the Dean, again shaking hands with him, and then taking leave; but the Bishop remained, talking kindly to Clement about Cambridge, and inquiring for Felix; while Wilmet helped Lance's feeble fingers to turn the thick creamy pages on which he durst not fix his eyes.
Presently the Bishop sat down again, and said, 'I have acted on my own judgment in giving you this, my boy. I have seen enough of our choir these six years to know that what caused so much displeasure was certainly not to be laid to your charge.'
Lance made an uneasy movement, became alarmingly red, and said in a choked voice, 'I don't know but what it might, my Lord.'
'You mean that you knew of this custom of getting out at night through the Cathedral?'
'Yes, my Lord; I found out the way.'
There was a silence.
Then the Bishop said, 'After this, I can only leave it to your own conscience whether you ought to keep this book; but I think you would do wisely to let me know, remembering that I have no authority in the school.'
Lance brightened, and he answered, 'My Lord, I did get out once, but only once, and I don't think I did wrong. It was a long time ago—in the autumn.'
'Last autumn! Was it not then that there was a report of a chorister in his shirt sleeves being seen at the Green Man at eleven o'clock at night?'
'That was I, my Lord.'