Exactly as she pulled him to a standstill, the front door opened and Garth himself appeared.  He had heard the unwonted sound of wheels on the drive, and now, as he recognized his late visitor, an expression of extreme surprise crossed his face.

“Miss Tennant!” he exclaimed in astonished tones.

“Yes.  Can your man take my pony?  And, please may I come in?  I—­I must see you alone for a few minutes.”

Trent glanced at her searchingly as his ear caught the note of strain in her voice.

Summoning Judson to take charge of the pony and trap, he led the way into the comfortable, old fashioned hall and wheeled forward an armchair.

“Sit down,” he said composedly.  “Now”—­as she obeyed—­“tell me what is the matter.”

His manner held a quiet friendliness.  The chill indifference he had accorded her of late—­even earlier that same day at Rose Cottage—­had vanished, and his curiously bright eyes regarded her with sympathetic interest.

To the man as he appeared at the moment, it was no difficult matter for Sara to unburden her heart, and a few minutes later he was in possession of all the facts concerning Molly’s flight.

“I don’t know whether Mr. Kent is really a married man or not,” she added in conclusion.  “Brady declares that he is.”

“He is,” replied Trent curtly.  “Very much married.  His first wife divorced him, and, since then, he has married again.”

“Oh——!” Sara half-rose from her seat, her face blanching.  Not till that moment did she realize how much in her inmost heart she had been relying on the hope that Garth might be able to contradict Black Brady’s statement.

“Don’t worry.”  Garth laid his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently back into her chair again.  “Don’t worry.  Thanks to Brady’s stroke of genius about the petrol—­I’ve evidently underestimated the man’s good points—­I think I can promise you that you shall have Miss Molly safely back at Sunnyside in the course of a few hours.  That is, if you are willing to trust me in the matter.”

“Of course I will trust you,” she answered simply.  Somehow it seemed as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders since she had confided her trouble to Garth.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.  “Now, while Judson gets the car round, you must have a glass of wine.”

“No—­oh, no!”—­hastily—­“I don’t want anything.”

“Allow me to know better than you do in this case,” he replied, smiling.

He left the room, presently returning with a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses.

“Oh, please—­I’d so much rather start at once,” she protested.  “I really don’t want anything.  Do let us hurry!”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve no intention of starting until you have drunk this”—­filling and handing one of the glasses to her.

Rather than waste time in further argument, she accepted it, only to find that her hand was shaking uncontrollably, so that the edge of the glass chattered against her teeth.