But Alicia was past worldly wisdom; even with Myfanwy's strong hand threatening her, she stood her ground, and her voice rose-- "Let them hear! Let all the world know that Mervyn Pugh--Mervyn the good, the righteous, is Gwen's seducer, the father of her child!" Then, even her anger failed before the knowledge that Morris Pugh stood at the door listening. With a muffled cry Mervyn turned and flung himself down on the sofa, his face crushed into the hard horsehair cushions; vaguely he felt their hardness to be a shelter. Myfanwy, looking as if she could have killed Alicia, moved to him and laid her hand softly, protectingly on his shoulder. "Do not fret, Mervyn," she said coldly, "it will soon be over." So for a space there was silence. Then Morris Pugh braced himself to the task which was his, as pastor of these wandering sheep. "As you stand before your Maker, Alicia Edwards," he said, bringing his hand down on the table to grip it with clenched nervous force, "is this accusation true?" Her answer was a sudden burst of tears, "Don't--don't ask me," she sobbed. "Is it true?" His voice insistent, almost cold in its very insistence, would take no denial. "Yes!" The assent could scarcely be heard for the sobs. Morris Pugh gave a sigh. It was almost as if all that was human in him left his body with that long, laboured breath, for an instant afterwards he was the accuser, the judge. "And you--Mervyn Pugh--God forgive you for bearing my father's honoured name--have done this wrong without repentance. You have stood by your child's grave and said never a word--never a word even to me, your spiritual guide, although I asked you, remember that! I asked you; and you have stood before the Lord all these long months, eating at His Table, drinking of His Blood, with this sin lying unconfessed in your heart! And you and the partner of your sin have stood together before the Great White Throne, your voices mingling in God's praise while your bodies----" Mervyn started to his feet. "Morris! Morris! before Heaven, that is not true--no! I am not so bad as that!" Checked in the full flow of his superhuman blame, the minister paused, and something of the man came back to him. "I will say nothing of myself," he went on, "of--of the shame. But have you any excuse? Can you show just cause why I should not deal with you, alas!--a thousand times alas!--my brother--as a minister of God must deal with the unrepentant sinner, with the hypocrite, with the man who has defiled the innermost sanctuary of God's temple?" There was silence. Only round Myfanwy's full lips showed a certain impatience, a weariness for this necessary fuss to subside, and leave room for common sense. "So you have no excuse. Then prepare for the condemnation of the congregation. Prepare to be humbled to the dust before the Lord."