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._) ANDR. (_looking off_). It's over. They're coming out. MARK. Why aren't you there, in church, by her side? ANDR. I was. I went to church with her. I stood up first and answered all his questions, and then I stood aside, and it was her turn. I saw her step forward, and I noticed a little twitch of her lip like her mother used to have, and then--I couldn't bear it any longer--I came away. I know it was cowardly, but I couldn't stay. (_Looking off._) Hark! They're coming! She's coming with the sister who is going to take her away. MARK. Take her away? ANDR. Mr. Feversham thinks it better for her to be away from the gossip of the village, so he has found a home for her with some sisters in London. She's going straight off there. Perhaps it's best. I don't know. (_ROSE GIBBARD, sobbing, with her face in her hands, passes the window from right to left, supported by an Anglican sister. The REVEREND MICHAEL FEVERSHAM follows them and passes window. A crowd of villagers come up to the window and look in. A moment or two later, ROSE GIBBARD enters left, supported by the sister. ROSE is a pretty delicate girl of about twenty, with rather refined features and bearing._) ANDR. (_holding out his arms to her_). Bear up, my dear. Don't cry! It breaks my heart to see you. _Enter the REVEREND MICHAEL FEVERSHAM about forty; pale, strong, calm, ascetic, scholarly face, with much sweetness and spirituality of expression; very dignified, gentle manners, calm, strong, persuasive voice, rarely raised above an ordinary speaking tone. His whole presence and bearing denote great strength of character, great dignity, great gentleness, and great self-control._ _The villagers gather round the outside of the window and look in with mingled curiosity, rudeness, and respect. MICHAEL goes up to left window, opens it. The villagers draw back a little._