She was very far from expecting any invasion of her solitude, and when after a moment or two she went on with her sweeping she had no suspicion of another presence in the dark building.  She had set herself resolutely to finish her task, and so energetic was she that she heard no sound of feet along the aisle behind her.

Some unaccountable impulse induced her to pause at length and still kneeling, brush in hand, to throw a backward glance along the nave.  Then it was that she saw a man’s figure standing on the chancel-steps, and so unexpected was the apparition that her weary nerves leapt with violence out of all proportion to the event, and she sprang to her feet with a startled cry that echoed weirdly through the empty place.  Then with a rush of self-ridicule she recognized Piers Evesham.  “Oh, it is you!” she said.  “How stupid of me!”

He came straight to her with an air of determination that would brook no opposition and took the brush out of her hand.  “That’s not your job,” he said.  “You go and sit down!”

She stared at him in silence, trying to still the wild agitation that his unlooked-for coming had raised in her.  He was wearing a heavy motor-coat, but he divested himself of this, and without further parley bent himself to the task of which he had deprived her.

Avery sat down somewhat limply on the pulpit-stairs and watched him.  He was very thorough and far brisker than she could have been.  In a very few minutes the litter was all collected, and Piers turned round and looked back at her across the dim chancel.

“Feeling better?” he said.

She did not answer him.  “What made you come in like that?” she asked.

He replied to the question with absolute simplicity.  “I’ve just brought Gracie home again.  She asked me to tea in the schoolroom, but you weren’t there, and they said I should find you here, so I came to fetch you.”

He moved slowly across and stood before her, looking down into her tired eyes with an odd species of relentlessness in his own.

“It’s an infernal shame that you should work so hard!” he said, with sudden resentment.  “You’re looking fagged to death.”

Avery smiled a little.  “I like hard work,” she said.

“Not such as this!” said Piers.  “It isn’t fit for you.  Why can’t the lazy hound do it himself?”

Her smile passed.  “Hush, Piers!” she said.  “Not here!”

He glanced towards the altar, and she thought a shade of reverence came into his face for a moment.  But he turned to her again immediately with his flashing, boyish smile.

“Well, it isn’t good for you to overwork, you know, Avery.  I hate to think of it.  And you have no one to take care of you and see you don’t.”

Avery got up slowly.  Her own face was severe in the candlelight, but before she could speak he went lightly on.

“Would you like me to play you something before we go?  Or are you too tired to blow?  It’s rather a shame to suggest it.  But it’s such a grand opportunity.”