ANDR. There’s nothing else. It all had to come out at last.
MARK. What did Mr. Feversham do?
ANDR. He persuaded us that we could never be right with ourselves, or right with our neighbours, or right with our God, till we had unsaid all our lies, and undone our deceit. So we’ve confessed it this morning.
MARK. In church? In public?
ANDR. Yes. I wouldn’t have minded it for myself. But was it necessary for her—for Rose? Was it bound to be in public before all her companions, before all who had watched her grow up from a child?
MARK. You may be sure Mr. Feversham wouldn’t have urged it unless he had felt it to be right and necessary.
ANDR. I wouldn’t have done it for anybody else in the world. I feel almost as if I were quits with him for all his favours to me.
MARK. You mustn’t speak like this. Remember all he has done for you.
ANDR. Oh, I don’t forget it. I don’t forget that I was his scout’s son, and that he educated me and made me his friend and companion and helper—there isn’t a crumb I eat or a thread I wear that I don’t owe to him. I don’t forget it. But after this morning, I feel it isn’t I who am in Mr. Feversham’s debt—it’s he who is in my debt.
(A penitential hymn, with organ accompaniment, is sung in church outside.)