On, on through the night roared the big car, with Garth bending low over the wheel in front, while, in the back-seat Molly huddled forlornly into the curve of Sara’s arm.

A few questions had elicited the whole foolish story of Lester Kent’s infatuation, and of the steps he had taken to enmesh poor simple-hearted Molly in the toils—­first, by lending her money, then, when he found that the loan had scared her, by buying her pictures and surrounding her with an atmosphere of adulation which momentarily blinded her from forming any genuine estimate either of the value of his criticism or of the sincerity of his desire to purchase.

Once the head resting against Sara’s shoulder was lifted, and a wistfully incredulous voice asked, very low—­

“You are sure he is married, Sara,—­quite sure?”

“Quite sure, Molly,” came the answer.

And later, as they were nearing home, Molly’s hardly-bought philosophy of life revealed itself in the brief comment:  “It’s very easy to make a fool of oneself.”

“Probably Mr. Kent has found that out—­by this time,” replied Sara with a grim flash of humour.

A faint, involuntary chuckle in response premised that ultimately Molly might be able to take a less despondent view of the night’s proceedings.

It was between two and three in the morning when at length the travelers climbed stiffly out of the car at the gateway of Sunnyside and made their way up the little tiled path that led to the front door.  The latter opened noiselessly at their approach and Jane, who had evidently been watching for them, stood on the threshold.

Her small, beady eyes were red-rimmed with sleeplessness—­and with the slow, difficult tears that now and again had overflowed as hour after hour crawled by, bringing no sign of the wanderers’ return—­and the shadows of fatigue that had hollowed her weather-beaten cheeks wrung a sympathetic pang from Sara’s heart as she realized what those long, inactive hours of helpless anxiety must have meant to the faithful soul.

Jane’s glance flew to the drooping, willowy figure clinging to Garth’s arm.

“My lamb! . . .  Oh!  Miss Molly dear, they’ve brought ’ee back!” Impulsively she caught hold of Garth’s coat-sleeve.  “Thank God you’ve brought them back, sir, and now there’s none as need ever know aught but that they’ve been in their beds all the blessed night!” Her lips were shaking, drawn down at the corners like those of a distressed child, but her harsh old voice quivered triumphantly.

A very kindly gleam showed itself in Garth’s dark face as he patted the rough, red hand that clutched his coat-sleeve.

“Yes, I’ve brought them back safely,” he said.  “Put them to bed, Jane.  Miss Sara’s fallen out of the car and Miss Molly has tumbled out of heaven, so they’re both feeling pretty sore.”

But Sara’s soreness was far the easier to bear, since it was purely physical.  As she lay in bed, at last, utterly weary and exhausted, the recollection of all the horror and anxiety that had followed upon the discovery of Molly’s flight fell away from her, and she was only conscious that had it not been for that wild night-ride which Molly’s danger had compelled, she would never have known that Garth loved her.