of him, and would forgive him and help him to do
right. Sabina found herself stronger than Raymond, and that did not
astonish her, for she had suspected it before.

Her mother, now in tears, agreed with her and she started on foot for
Bridport, walked quickly, and within an hour, reached the dwelling of
the Ironsydes--a large house standing hidden in the trees above the
town.

Miss Ironsyde was reading and looking forward to her tea when Sabina
arrived. She had heard of the girl through Ernest Churchouse, but she
had never met her and did not connect her in any way with Raymond. Jenny
received her and was impressed with her beauty, for Sabina, albeit
anxious and nervous, looked handsome after her quick walk.

"I've heard of you from your mother and Mr. Churchouse," said Miss
Ironsyde, shaking hands. "You come from him, I expect. I hope he is
well? Sit down by the fire."

Her kindly manner and gentle face set the younger at ease.

"He's quite well, thank you, miss. But I'm here for myself, not him. I'm
in a great deal of terrible anxiety, and you'll excuse me for coming, I
do hope, when I explain why I've come. It was understood between me and
Mr. Raymond Ironsyde very clearly yesterday that he was going to tell
you about it. He left me yesterday to do so. But I've seen him to-day
and I find he never came, so I thought I might venture to come even
though it was Sunday."

"The better the day, the better the deed. Something is troubling you.
Why did not my nephew come, if he started to come?"

"I don't know. Indeed, he should have come."

"I'm afraid he starts to do a great many things he doesn't carry
through," said Jenny, and the words, lightly spoken, fell sinister on
Sabina's ear.

"There are some things a man must carry through if he starts to do
them," she said quietly, and her tone threw light for Raymond's aunt.
She grew serious.

"Tell me," she said. "I know my nephew very well and have his interests
greatly at heart. He is somewhat undisciplined still and has had to face
certain difficulties and problems, not much in themselves, but much to
one with his temperament."

Then Sabina, who felt that she might be fighting for her life, set out
to tell her story. She proved at her best and spoke well. She kept her
temper and chose her words. The things that she had thought to speak,
indeed, escaped her, but her artless and direct narrative did not fail
to convince the listener.

"You're more to him than