Miles looked unconvinced.

“I forged my own fetters, Herrick,” continued Trent.  “In a way, I’m responsible for Tim Durward’s existence and I can’t damn his chances at the outset.  After all, he’s at the beginning of things.  I’m getting towards the end.  At least”—­wearily—­“I hope so.”

Herrick’s quick glance took in the immense alteration the last few days had wrought in Trent’s appearance.  The man had aged visibly, and his face was worn and lined, the eyes burning feverishly in their sockets.

“You’re good for another thirty or forty years, bar accidents,” said Herrick at last, deliberately.  “Are you going to make those years worse than worthless to you by this crazy decision?”

“I’ve no alternative.  Good Lord, man!”—­with savage irritability—­“you don’t suppose I’m enjoying it, do you?  But I’ve no way out.  I took a certain responsibility on myself—­and I must see it through.  I can’t shirk it now, just because pay-day’s come.  I can do nothing except stick it out.”

“And what about Sara?” said Herrick quietly.  “Has she no claim to be considered?”

He almost flinched from the look of measureless anguish that leapt into the others man’s eyes in response.

“For God’s sake, man, leave Sara out of it!” Garth exclaimed thickly.  “I’ve cursed myself enough for the suffering I’ve brought on her.  I was a mad fool to let her know I cared.  But I thought, as Garth Trent, that I had shut the door on the past.  I ought to have known that the door of the past remains eternally ajar.”

Miles nodded understandingly.

“I don’t think you were to blame,” he said.  “It’s Mrs. Durward who has pulled the door wide open.  She’s stolen your new life from you—­the life you had built up.  Trent, you owe that woman nothing!  Let me show this letter, and the other that goes with it, to Sara!”

Trent shook his head in mute refusal.

“I can’t,” he said at last.  “Elisabeth must be forgiven.  The best woman in the world may lose all sense of right and wrong when it’s a question of her child.  But, even so, I can’t consent to the making public of that letter.”  He rose and paced the room restlessly.  “Man!  Man!” he cried at last, coming to a halt in front of Herrick.  “Can’t you see—­that woman trusted me with her whole life, and with the life of any child that she might bear, when she married on the strength of my promise.  And I must keep faith with her.  It’s the one poor rag of honour left me, Herrick!”—­with intense bitterness.

There was a long silence.  Then, at last, Miles held out his hand.

“You’ve beaten me,” he said sadly.  “I won’t destroy the letters.  As I said, they are a trust.  But the secret is safe with me, after this.  You’ve tied my hands.”

Trent smiled grimly.

“You’ll get used to it,” he commented.  “Mine have been tied for three-and-twenty years—­though even yet I don’t wear my bonds with grace, precisely.”