“Garth!” There was a shrilling note of apprehension in her voice.  “Garth!  What is it?  Why do you look like that?”

It was a full minute before he answered.  When he did, he spoke heavily, as one who knows that his next words will dash all the joy out of life.

“Because,” he said quietly, “I can no more tell you anything now than I could before.  I can’t clear myself, Sara!”

Her eyes were fixed on his.

“Do you mean—­you will never be able to?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, I mean that.”

“Answer me one more question, Garth.  Is it that you cannot—­or will not clear yourself?”

“I must not,” he replied steadily.  “I am not the only one concerned in the matter.  There is some one to whom I owe it to be silent.  Honour forbids that I should even try to clear myself.  Now you know all—­all that I can ever tell you.”

“Who is it?” The question leaped from her, and Garth’s answer came with an irrevocability of refusal there was no combating.

“That I cannot tell you—­or any one.”

Sara’s mouth twitched.  Her face was very white, but her eyes were shining.

“And you have borne this—­all these years?” she said.  “You have known that you could clear yourself and have refrained?”

“There was no choice,” he answered quietly.  “I took on a certain liability—­years ago, and because it has turned out to be a much heavier liability than I anticipated gives me no excuse for repudiating it now.”

For a moment Sara hid her face in her hands.  When she uncovered it again there was something almost akin to awe in her eyes.

“Will you ever forgive me, Garth, for doubting you?” she whispered.

“Forgive you?” He smiled.  “What else could you have done, sweetheart?  I don’t know, even now, why you believe in me,” he added wonderingly.

“Just because—­” she began, and fell silent, realizing that her belief had no reason, but was founded on the intuitive knowledge of a love that has suffered and won out on the other side.

When next she spoke it was with the simple, frank directness characteristic of her.

“Thank God that I can prove that I do trust you—­absolutely.  When will you marry me, Garth?”

“When will I marry you?” He repeated the words slowly, as though they conveyed no meaning to him.

“Yes.  I want every one to know, to see that I believe in you.  I want to stand at your side—­go shares.  Do you remember, once, how we settled that married life meant going shares in everything—­good and bad?” She smiled a little at the remembrance drawn from the small store of memories that was all her few days of unclouded love had given her.  “I want—­my share, Garth.”

For a moment he was silent.  Then he spoke, and the quiet finality of his tones struck her like a blow.

“We can never marry, Sara.”