Now he has no home; Nollie and I have pulled him down. And yet I
couldn't help it, and perhaps she couldn't. Poor Nollie!...'

2

Pierson had stayed in the vestry, talking with his choir and wardens;
there was no hitch, for his resignation had been accepted, and he had
arranged with a friend to carry on till the new Vicar was appointed. When
they were gone he went back into the empty Church, and mounted to the
organ-loft. A little window up there was open, and he stood leaning
against the stone, looking out, resting his whole being. Only now that it
was over did he know what stress he had been through. Sparrows were
chirping, but sound of traffic had almost ceased, in that quiet Sunday
hour of the evening meal. Finished! Incredible that he would never come
up here again, never see those roof-lines, that corner of Square Garden,
and hear this familiar chirping of the sparrows. He sat down at the
organ and began to play. The last time the sound would roll out and echo
'round the emptied House of God. For a long time he played, while the
building darkened slowly down there below him. Of all that he would
leave, he would miss this most--the right to come and play here in the
darkening Church, to release emotional sound in this dim empty space
growing ever more beautiful. From chord to chord he let himself go
deeper and deeper into the surge and swell of those sound waves, losing
all sense of actuality, till the music and the whole dark building were
fused in one rapturous solemnity. Away down there the darkness crept
over the Church, till the pews, the altar-all was invisible, save the
columns; and the walls. He began playing his favourite slow movement
from Beethoven's Seventh Symphony--kept to the end, for the visions it
ever brought him. And a cat, which had been stalking the sparrows, crept
in through the little window, and crouched, startled, staring at him with
her green eyes. He closed the organ, went quickly down, and locked up
his Church for the last time. It was warmer outside than in, and
lighter, for daylight was not quite gone. He moved away a few yards, and
stood looking up. Walls, buttresses, and spire were clothed in milky
shadowy grey. The top of the spire seemed to touch a star. 'Goodbye, my
Church!' he thought. 'Good-bye, good-bye!' He felt his face quiver;
clenched his teeth, and turned away.

XII

When Noel fled, Fort had started forward to stop her; then, realising
that