away on to the floor. After which, the Herricks had taken over command.

"I think," remarked Molly pertinently, "you might as well turn
Greenacres into an annexe to the 'Convalescent,' Audrey. You've got four
cases already."

The Lavender Lady glanced up smilingly from one of the khaki socks
which, in these days, dangled perpetually from her shining needles, and
into which she knitted all the love, and pity, and tender prayers of her
simple old heart.

"Mr. Trent is better," she announced with satisfaction. "I had tea
upstairs with him this afternoon."

"Yes," supplements Selwyn, "I fancy one of your patients has struck,
Audrey. Trent intends coming down this evening. Judson has just come
back from Far End with some fresh clothes for him."

Audrey turned hastily to her husband.

"Good Heavens, Miles! We can't let him come down! Mrs. Durward will be
here with us."

"Well?"--placidly from Herrick.

"Well! It will be anything but well!" retorted Audrey significantly.
"Have you forgotten what happened that day in Haven Woods? I'm not going
to have Garth hurt like that again! He may have been cashiered a hundred
times--I don't care whether he was or not!--he's a man!"

A very charming smile broke over Miles's face.

"I've always known it," he said quietly. "And--I should think Mrs.
Durward knows it now."

"Yes. I know it now."

The low, contralto tones that answered were Elisabeth's. Unnoticed, she
had entered the room and was standing just outside the little group of
people clustered round the hearth--her slim, black-robed figure, with
its characteristic little air of stateliness, sharply defined in the
ruddy glow of the firelight.

A sudden tremor of emotion seemed to ripple through the room. The
atmosphere grew tense, electric--alert as with some premonition of
coming storm.

The two men had risen to their feet, but no one spoke, and the brief
rustle of movement, as every one turned instinctively towards that
slender, sable figure, whispered into blank silence.

To Miles, infinitely compassionate, there seemed something symbolical in
the figure of the woman standing there--isolated, outside the friendly
circle of the fireside group, standing solitary at the table as a
prisoner stands at the bar of judgment.

The firelight, flickering across her face, revealed its pallor and
the burning fever of her eyes, and drew strange lights from the heavy
chestnut hair that swathed her head like a folded banner