Some of her friends urged her to take legal action against Raymond Ironsyde and demand mighty damages.

“You can hurt him there, if you can’t anywhere else,” said Nancy Buckler.  “You say you’re too weak to hurt him, but you’re not.  Knock his money out of him; you ought to get thousands.”

Her mother, for a time, was of the same opinion.  It seemed a right and reasonable thing that Sabina should not be called upon to face her ruined life without some compensation, but she found herself averse from this.  The thought of touching his money, or availing herself of it in any way, was horrible to her.  She knew, moreover, that such an arrangement would go far to soothe Raymond’s conscience; and the more he paid, probably the happier he would feel.  For other causes also she declined to take any legal steps against him, and in this decision Ernest Churchouse supported her.

He had been her prime consolation indeed, and though, at first, his line of argument only left Sabina impatient, by degrees—­by very slow degrees—­she inclined to him and suffered herself to hope he might not be mistaken.  He urged patience and silence.  He held that Raymond Ironsyde would presently return to that better and worthier self, which could not be denied him.  His own abounding charity, where humanity was concerned, honestly induced Ernest to hope and almost believe that the son of Henry Ironsyde had made these proposals under excitation of mind; that he was thrown off his balance by the pressure of events; and that, presently, when he had time to remember the facts concerning Sabina, he would be heartily ashamed of himself and make the only adequate amends.

It was not unnatural that the girl should find in this theory her highest consolation.  She clung to it desperately, though few but Mr. Churchouse himself accounted it of any consequence.  Him, however, she had been accustomed to consider the fountain of wisdom, and though, with womanhood, she had lived to see his opinions mistaken and his trust often abused, yet disappointments did not change a sanguine belief in his fellow creatures.

So, thankful to repose her mind on another, Sabina for a while came to standing-ground in her storm-stricken journey.  Each day was an eternity, but she strove to be patient.  And, meantime, she wrote and posted a letter to her old lover.  It was not angry, or even petulant.  Indeed, she made her appeal with dignity and good choice of words.  Before all she insisted on the welfare of the child, and reminded him of the cruelty inflicted from birth on any baby unlawfully born in England.

Mr. Churchouse had instructed her in this matter, and she asked Raymond if he could find it in his heart to allow the child of their common love and worship to come into the world unrecognised by the world, deprived of recognition and human rights.

He answered the letter vaguely and Mr. Churchouse read a gleam of hope into his words, but neither Sabina nor her mother were able to do so.  For he spoke only of recognising his responsibilities and paternal duty.  He bade her fear nothing for the child, or herself, and assured her that her future would be his care and first obligation as long as he lived.