hese I can give you. And if you think those things are worth while,
I'll marry you. But--I'm not in love with you."

"You will be--I'm sure it's catching," he declared with the gay, buoyant
confidence which was one of his most endearing qualities.

Sara smiled a little wistfully.

"I wish it were," she said. "But please be serious, Tim dear--"

"How can I be?" he interrupted joyfully. "When the woman I love tells me
that she'll marry me, do you suppose I'm going to pull a long face about
it?"

He caught her in his arms and kissed her with all the impetuous fervour
of his two-and-twenty years. At the touch of his warm young lips, her
own lips whitened. For an instant, as she rested in his arms, she was
stabbed through and through by the memory of those other arms that had
held her as in a vice of steel, and of stormy, passionate kisses in
comparison with Tim's impulsive caress, half-shy, half-reverent, seemed
like clear water beside the glowing fire of red wine.

She drew herself sharply out of his embrace. Would she never
forget--would she be for ever remembering, comparing? If so, God help
her!

"No," she said quietly. "You needn't pull a long face over it. But--but
marriage is a serious thing, Tim, after all."

"My dear"--he spoke with a sudden gentle gravity--"don't misunderstand
me. Marriage with you is the most serious and wonderful and glorious
thing that could ever happen to a man. When you're my wife, I shall
be thanking God on my knees every day of my life. All the jokes and
nonsense are only so many little waves of happiness breaking on the
shore. But behind them there is always the big sea of my love for
you--the still waters, Sara."

Sara remained silent. The realization of the tender, chivalrous,
worshiping love this boy was pouring out at her feet made her feel very
humble--very ashamed and sorry that she could give so little in return.

Presently she turned and held out her hands to him.

"Tim--my Tim," she said, and her voice shook a little. "I'll try not to
disappoint you."

CHAPTER XV

THE NAME OF DURWARD

The Durwards received the news of their son's engagement to Sara with
unfeigned delight. Geoffrey was bluffly gratified at the materialization
of his private hopes, and Elisabeth had never appeared more captivating
than during the few days that immediately followed. She went about as
softly radiant and content as a pleased child, and even the strange,
watchful reticence that dwe