“I do not know,” he answered her. “I don’t seem to care.”
“He must be somewhere,” she said: “the living God of love and hope: the God that Christ believed in.”
“They were His last words, too,” he answered: “‘My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?’”
“No, not His last,” said Joan: “‘Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.’ Love was Christ’s God. He will help us to find Him.”
Their arms were about one another. Joan felt that a new need had been born in her: the need of loving and of being loved. It was good to lay her head upon his breast and know that he was glad of her coming.
He asked her questions about herself. But she could see that he was tired; so she told him it was too important a matter to start upon so late. She would talk about herself to-morrow. It would be Sunday.
“Do you still go to the chapel?” she asked him a little hesitatingly.
“Yes,” he answered. “One lives by habit.”
“It is the only Temple I know,” he continued after a moment. “Perhaps God, one day, will find me there.”
He rose and lit the gas, and a letter on the mantelpiece caught his eye.