The young man stared straight before him, seeing only one figure, that of Ephraim Shine, until he felt a light touch on his arm.
Someone was standing at his side, offering him the half of her hymn-book.
Harry raised his hand to the leaves mechanically, and noticed that the hand on the other side was white and shapely, the wrist softly rounded and blue-veined.

The voice that sounded by his side was low and musical.
'Oh! Harry, what are you going to do ?' His neighbour had ceased singing, and was whispering tremulously under cover of the voices of the congregation.
Harry's face hardened, and he set it resolutely towards the platform.
'Don't you know me, Harry?
I am Christina Shine.

You remember Chris?
We were school mates.' His daughter! The young man let his left hand fall to his side.
'Please don't.

You have come to quarrel with father, but you won't do it, Harry?
You saved my life once, when we were boy and girl.

You will promise me this ?' Harry Hardy answered nothing, and the pleading voice continued: 'For the sake of the days when we were friends, Harry, say you won't do it--you won't do it here, in--in God's house.' 'It was here, in God's house, he slandered my mother.' The man's voice sounded relentless.
'No, no, not that! He prayed for her.