ffrey," she said very slowly. "No man knows a
woman, really--not all her thoughts." And had Major Durward, honest
fellow, realized the volcanic force of passion hidden behind the tense
inscrutability of his wife's lovely face, he would have been utterly
confounded. We do not plumb the deepest depths even of those who are
closest to us.

Civilisation had indeed forced the turgid river to run within the narrow
channels hewn by established custom, but, released from the bondage of
convention, the soul of Elisabeth Durward was that of sheer primitive
woman, and the pivot of all her actions her love for her mate and for
the man-child she had borne him.

Once, years ago, she had sacrificed justice, and honour, and a man's
faith in womanhood on that same pitiless altar of love. But the story of
that sacrifice was known only to herself and one other--and that other
was not Durward.

CHAPTER XXII

LOVE'S SACRAMENT

A full week had elapsed since the night of that eventful journey in
pursuit of Molly, and from the moment when Garth had given Sara into the
safe keeping of Jane Crab till the moment when he came upon her by the
pergola at Rose Cottage, perched on the top of a ladder, engaged in
tying back the exuberance of a Crimson Rambler, they had not met.

And now, as he halted at the foot of the ladder, Sara was conscious that
her spirits had suddenly bounded up to impossible heights at the sight
of the lean, dark face upturned to her.

"The Lavender Lady and Miles are pottering about in the greenhouse," she
announced explanatorily, waving her hand in the direction of a
distant glimmer of glass beyond the high box hedge which flanked the
rose-garden.

"Are they?" Trent, thus arrested in the progress of his search for his
host and hostess, seemed entirely indifferent as to whether it were ever
completed or not. He leaned against one of the rose-wreathed pillars of
the pergola and gazed negligently in the direction Sara indicated.

"How is Miss Molly?" he asked.

Sara twinkled.

"She is just beginning to discard sackcloth and ashes for something more
becoming," she informed him gravely.

"That's good. Are you--are you all right after your tumble? I'm making
these kind inquiries because, since it was my car out of which you
elected to fall, I feel a sense of responsibility."

Sara descended from the ladder before she replied. Then she remarked
composedly--

"It has taken precisely seven days, apparently, for