She was with him; that was enough. Already it was the sweetest hour of all her life; for the thought of him had haunted her for months, and was full of pain; but in his presence all pain passed away. That was so wonderful to Gwynneth! So wonderful was it that she herself was aware of it at the time; it was her one great discovery and surprise. To be with him was to forget all that he had ever done, all that she had never before forgotten--the good with the evil. It was to sweep aside the earthly and the palpable, to feel the divine domination of spirit over spirit, and the peace which comes with even the secret surrender of soul to soul. Hers was a conscious surrender, and Gwynneth made it without shame. Since it was her secret, why should she be ashamed? She was exalted, exultant, and yet serene. She might carry her secret to the grave; her life would be the richer for it, for these few minutes, for every word he spoke. So she caught each one as it fell, and laid the treasure in her heart, even while she listened for the next. But in a minute they were come as far as he intended to escort her; there were the palings and the stark trees close upon them in the fog; and an omnibus passing, huge as a house. Gwynneth had been treading thin air; now she was back in the sticky streets, inhaling the raw mist, to exhale it in clouds under a microscopic magenta sun. They had stopped at the corner; he was hesitating: her breath disappeared. "I have to get over to that side sooner or later," he said. "I may just as well walk across with you, if you don't mind." "I shall be delighted," said Gwynneth, frankly, brightly; but her breath came like a puff of smoke, and she felt her colour come with it as they crossed the road. "I want to tell you about the church," he said, as they entered upon the broad walk. "This is the first Sunday that I haven't taken service there since the beginning of August." "The first!" exclaimed Gwynneth. "Have you actually gone on up to now without a roof?" Carlton turned in his stride. "But we have a roof, Miss Gleed!" "You have one?" "It has been on some weeks." Gwynneth was standing quite still. "Do you mean to say that the church is finished?" she cried, incredulous. "Yes," said Carlton; "thank God, I can say that at last." "But it seems such a short time! I don't understand. It seemed impossible to me--by yourself?" "Oh, but I have not been by myself. I have had help." "At last!" "I wonder you have not heard. Everybody has helped me--everybody!" "Do you mean--my people--among others?" And Gwynneth preferred walking on to facing him here. "Is it possible you haven't heard?" exclaimed Carlton, incredulous in turn. "Not a word," replied Gwynneth, bitterly. "They never write." But her bitterness was new-born of her indignation, not that they never wrote, but that they had not written to tell her this. He told her himself with much feeling and more embarrassment.