en."

Sara's eyes flew down the few brief lines of the letter.

"Evidently the young fool wishes to be thought guilty," Colin Herrick
had written. "Shielding his pal Lovell, I suppose. Well, it's his
funeral, not mine! But one never knows how things may pan out, and some
day it might mean all the difference between heaven and hell to Kennedy
to be able to prove his innocence--so I am enclosing herewith a properly
attested record of the facts, Miles, in case I should send in my checks
while I'm at the other side of the world."

As a matter of fact, however, Colin still lived and prospered in
Australia, so that there would be no difficulty in proving Maurice's
innocence down to the last detail.

"Do you mean," Sara appealed to Miles incredulously, "do you mean--that
there were these proofs--all the time? And you--_you knew_?"

"Herrick wasn't to blame," interposed Maurice hastily, sensing the
horrified accusation in her tones. "I forbade him to use those papers."

"But why--why----"

Miles looked at her and a light kindled in his eyes.

"My dear, you're marrying a chivalrous, quixotic fool. Maurice refused
to let me show these proofs because, on the strength of his promise to
shield Geoffrey Lovell, Elisabeth had married and borne a son. Not
even though it meant smashing up his whole life would he go back on his
word."

"Garth! Garth!" The name by which she had always known him sprang
spontaneously from Sara's lips. Her voice was shaking, but her eyes,
likes Herrick's, held a glory of quiet shining. "How could you, dear?
What madness! What idiotic, glorious madness!"

"I don't see how I could have done anything else," said Maurice simply.
"Elisabeth's whole scheme of existence was fashioned on her trust in
my promise. I couldn't--afterwards, after her marriage and Tim's
birth--suddenly pull away the very foundation on which she had built up
her life."

Impulsively Sara slipped her hand into his.

"I'm glad--_glad_ you couldn't, dear," she whispered. "It would not have
been my Garth if you could have done."

He pressed her hand in silence. A curious lassitude was stealing over
him. He had borne the heat and burden of the day, and now that the work
was done and there was nothing further to fight for, nothing left to
struggle and contend against, he was conscious of a strange feeling of
frustration.

It seemed almost as though the long agony of those years of
self-immolation had been in vain--a useless sacr