"Mark!"
He sprang up, with a startled exclamation, and came forwards, holding out both hands.
"What has happened?"
As he spoke her indignation began to ooze from her. Intuition told her that the expression upon Mark's face revealed intense sympathy. Her trouble, whatever it might be, had moved him to the core. Suddenly, a light flickered out of the darkness. For the first time, she saw herself and him alone together, shut off from the world. It came upon her with a shock that she was glad that Mark, not Archibald, had written the sermon. Only he, the lover of her girlish dreams, could have found the words which had stirred her so profoundly. Mark repeated the question, "What has happened?"
"You wrote this?" she cried, holding out the Westchester sermon.
He nodded, realising the fatuity of denial. For a moment they gazed into each other's eyes. Then she said slowly—
"You wrote the 'Purity' sermon?"
"M-m-m-most of it," he admitted reluctantly.
"You have helped him ever since?"
"I have revised some of his work."