He was young, he was young.  He wanted life, all he could get of it.  And he left the higher things because as yet he was undeveloped.  He had not felt that hunger of the spirit which only that which is spiritual can satisfy.  It would come.  She was sure it would come.  She was watching for it day by day.  His wings were still untried.  He did not want to soar.  But by-and-bye the heights would begin to draw him.  And then—­then they would soar together.  But till that day dawned, her love must be the guardian of them both.

There came a slight sound in the room behind her.  She turned swiftly.  “Piers!”

He was close to her.  As she started to her feet his arms enclosed her.  He looked down into her eyes, holding her fast pressed to him.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said.  “But—­when I saw you were praying—­I had to come in.  I wanted so awfully to know—­if you would get an answer.”

“But, Piers!” she protested.

He kissed her lips.  “Don’t be angry, Avery!  I’m not scoffing.  I don’t know enough about God to scoff at Him.  Tell me!  Do you ever get an answer, or are you content to go jogging on like the rest of the world without?”

She made an effort to free herself.  “Do you know, Piers, I can’t talk to you about—­holy things—­when you are holding me like this.”

He looked stubborn.  “I don’t know what you mean by holy things.  I’m not a believer.  At least I don’t believe in prayer.  I can get all I want without it.”

“I wonder!” Avery said.

She was still trying to disengage herself, but as he held her with evident determination she desisted.

There followed a silence during which her grey eyes met his black ones steadily, fearlessly, resolutely.  Then in a whisper Piers spoke, his lips still close to hers.  “Tell me what you were praying for, sweetheart!”

She smiled a little.  “No, dear, not now!  It’s nothing that’s in your power to give me.  Shall we sit on the window-seat and talk?”

But Piers was loath to let her go from his arms.  He knelt beside her as she sat, still holding her.

She put her arm round his neck.  “Do you remember your Star of Hope?” she asked him softly.

“I remember,” said Piers, but he did not turn his eyes to the night sky; they still dwelt upon her.

Avery’s face was toward the window.  The drapery fell loosely away from her throat.  He stooped forward suddenly and pressed his hot lips upon her soft white flesh.

A little tremor went through her at his touch; she kept her face turned from him.

“Have you really got all you want?” she asked after a moment.  “Is there nothing at all left to hope for?”

“Didn’t we drink to the future only to-night?” he said.

His arms were drawing her, but still she kept her face turned away.  “Did you mean anything by that?” she asked.  “Were you—­were you thinking of anything special?”