“Quite sure,” replied Miles, smiling serenely.  “Besides, I had a particular reason for wishing to see you.”

“What was that?”

Miles unlocked the drawer where he had laid aside the papers he had perused with so much interest two days ago, and, slipping them out of the elastic bands that held them, handed them to Trent.

“I’d like you to read those documents, if you will,” he said.

There was a short silence while Trent’s eyes travelled swiftly down the closely written sheets.  When he looked up from their perusal his expression was perfectly blank.  Miles could glean nothing from it.

“Well?” he said tentatively.

Garth quietly tendered him back the letters.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Herrick,” was all he vouchsafed.

“Then it isn’t true?” asked Miles searchingly.

“It sounds improbable,” replied Trent composedly.

Miles reflected a moment.  Then, slowly replacing the papers within the elastic band, he remarked—­

“I think I’ll take Sara’s opinion.”

If he had desired to break down the other’s guard of indifference, he succeeded beyond his wildest expectations.

Trent sprang to his feet, his hand outstretched as though to snatch the letters back again.  His eyes blazed excitedly.

“No!  No!  You mustn’t do that—­you can’t do that!  It’s——­Oh!  You won’t understand—­but those papers must be destroyed.”

Herrick’s fingers closed firmly round the papers in question, and he slipped them into the inside pocket of his coat.

“They certainly will not be destroyed,” he replied.  “I hold them in trust.  But, tell me, why should I not show them to Sara?  It seems to me the one obvious thing to do.”

Trent shook his head.

“No.  Believe me, it could do no good, and it might do an infinity of harm.”

Herrick looked incredulous.

“I can’t see that,” he objected.

“It is so, nevertheless.”

A silence fell between them.

“Then you mean,” said Herrick, breaking it at last, “that I’m to hold my tongue?”

“Just that.”

“It is very unfair.”

“And if you published that information abroad, it’s unfair to Tim.  Have you thought of that?  He, at least, is perfectly innocent.”

“But, man, it’s inconceivable—­grotesque!”

“Not at all.  I gave Elisabeth Durward my promise, and she has married and borne a son, trusting to that promise.  My lips are closed—­now and always.”

“But mine are not.”

“They will be, Miles, if I ask it.  Don’t you see, there’s no going back for me now?  I can’t wipe out the past.  I made a bad mistake—­a mistake many a youngster similarly circumstanced might have made.  And I’ve been paying for it ever since.  I must go on paying to the end—­it’s my honour that’s involved.  That’s why I ask you not to show those letters.”