finding of that lost lamb upon the
veld. And her scrupulous habit of truth, her crystal honour, her keen,
clear judgment no less than her rigorous habit of self-examination, told
her that the half-truth was no better than falsehood, and that she,
Christ's Bride and Mary's Daughter, had deliberately deceived this man.

Yet for his own sake, was it not best that he should never know the truth!
And for the sake of Richard's daughter, was it not her sacred maternal
duty to shield that dearest one from shame? She steeled herself with that
as he bared his head before her.

"Ma'am, you have more than honoured me with your confidence, and I need
not say that it is sacred in my eyes, and shall be kept inviolate. And for
the rest----"

XL

"Reverend Mother," sounded from below.

"They are calling us," she said, as though awakened from a dream.

"May I take you down?"

He offered his arm with deference, and she touching it lightly, they went
down together. Lynette came to them laughing, a cup in either hand, her
aides-de-camp following with plates that held the siege apology for bread
and butter and familiar-looking cubes of something....

"Thank you, Miss Mildare. What have you here, Beau? Cake, upon my word! Or
is it a delusion born of long and painful abstinence from any form of
pastry?"

"Cake it is, sir, and thundering good cake," proclaimed Beauvayse. "Made
from Sister Tobias's special siege recipe, without candied peel or plums
or carraways, or any of the other what-do-you-call-'ems that go into the
ordinary article. Go in and win, sir. I've had three whacks. Haven't I,
Miss Mildare?"

He spoke with the infectious enjoyment of a schoolboy, and Lynette's
laugh, sweet and gay as a thrush's sudden trill of melody, answered:

"I think you have had four."

She flushed as she met the Colonel's eyes, reading in them masculine
appreciation of her delicate, vivid beauty, and put her freed hand into
the lean palm he held out, saying, with a shy, sweet smile that lifted one
corner of the sensitive mouth higher than the other:

"I didn't come to say How do you do? before, because I saw you were busy
talking to Mother." Her quick glance read something amiss in another face.
"Mother, how tired you look! Please bring that little camp-stool, Mr.
Fraithorn. Oh, thank you, Dr. Saxham; that one with arms is more
comfortable. Colonel, we're all under your command. Won't you please order
the Mother to sit down and rest?