Her happiness could only come through the divorce proceedings being stopped at once, and in her being free to go back to the man whom she loved.  Then the aspect that Michael had been willing to do a really fine thing for the sake of friendship struck him—­perhaps he was worthy of Sabine, after all; and they were young and absolutely suited to one another.  No, the wickedness would have been if he, whose youth had passed, had claimed her and come between.  He was only now going through the same agony his friend must have done, and he had a stronger motive to help him, in the wish to secure the joy of this adored woman, whereas Michael knew he was condemning her to sorrow as well as himself, and had been strong enough to do it simply from honor and friendship.  No, he had no right to think of him as brutal or not fine; and now it was for him, Henry, to bring back happiness to his darling and to his old friend.

He sat down in a chair beside the fire and set himself to think.  To have to take some decided course came as a relief.  He would go out into the village and telegraph to Michael to come to Heronac at once.  He was in Paris, staying at the Ritz, he knew; he could be there to-morrow—­on Christmas Day!  Surely that was well, when peace and good-will towards men should be over all the earth—­and he, Henry, would meet him at the house of the Pere Anselme and explain all to him, and then take him back to Sabine.  He would not see her again until then.

He found telegraph forms on his writing-table and rapidly wrote out his message.  “Come immediately by first train, meet me at house of Pere Anselme, a matter of gravest importance to you and Sabine,” and he signed it “Fordyce.”  Then he firmly controlled himself and went off with it into the night.

The cold air struck his face and confronted him with its fierceness; the wind was getting up; to-morrow the waves would again be rough.

The village was not far away, and he soon had reached his goal and sent the telegram.  Then he stopped at the presbytere.  He must speak once more to the priest.  The Pere Anselme led him in to his bare little parlor and drew him to the warm china stove.  It was only two hours since they had parted, but Lord Fordyce looked like an old man.

“I have come to tell you, my Father,” he said, “that I know all of the story now, and it is terrible enough; but I want you to help me to secure her happiness.  Michael Arranstoun is her husband, as you supposed, and she loves him.”  The old priest nodded his head comprehendingly, and Henry went on.  “They only parted to save me pain.  It was a tremendous sacrifice which, of course, I cannot accept.  So now I have sent for him, and I want you to let me meet him here at your house, and explain everything to him to-morrow before he sees her.  I hope, if he gets my telegram in time, he will catch the train from Paris at midnight to-night; it gets in about nine in the morning.  Then they can be happy on Christmas Day.”