He was young, he was young. He wanted life, all he could get of it. And he left the higher things because as yet he was undeveloped. He had not felt that hunger of the spirit which only that which is spiritual can satisfy. It would come. She was sure it would come. She was watching for it day by day. His wings were still untried. He did not want to soar. But by-and-bye the heights would begin to draw him. And then—then they would soar together. But till that day dawned, her love must be the guardian of them both.
There came a slight sound in the room behind her. She turned swiftly. "Piers!"
He was close to her. As she started to her feet his arms enclosed her. He looked down into her eyes, holding her fast pressed to him.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," he said. "But—when I saw you were praying—I had to come in. I wanted so awfully to know—if you would get an answer."
"But, Piers!" she protested.
He kissed her lips. "Don't be angry, Avery! I'm not scoffing. I don't know enough about God to scoff at Him. Tell me! Do you ever get an answer, or are you content to go jogging on like the rest of the world without?"
She made an effort to free herself. "Do you know, Piers, I can't talk to you about—holy things—when you are holding me like this."
He looked stubborn. "I don't know what you mean by holy things. I'm not a believer. At least I don't believe in prayer. I can get all I want without it."
"I wonder!" Avery said.
She was still trying to disengage herself, but as he held her with evident determination she desisted.