There was a long silence, while Sara lay very still against his breast, her face hidden.

In that silence, her spirit met and faced the ultimate issue—­for there was that in Garth’s voice which told her that his decision not to marry her was immutable.  Could she—­oh God!—­could she give him what he asked?  Give only part to the man to whom she longed to give all that a woman has to give?  It would be far easier to go away—­to put him out of her life for ever.

And yet—­he asked this of her!  He needed something that she could still give—­the comradeship which was all that they two might ever know of love. . . .

When at last she raised her face to his, it was ashen, but her small chin was out-thrust, her eyes were like stars, and the grip of her slim hands on his shoulders was as iron.

“I’m strong enough to give you anything that you want,” she said quietly.

She had made the supreme sacrifice; she was ready to be his friend.

A sad and wistful gravity hung about their parting.  Their lips met and clung together, but it was in a kiss of renunciation, not of passion.

He held her in his arms a moment longer.

“Never forget I’m loving you—­always,” he said steadily.  “Call me your friend—­but remember, in my heart I shall always be your lover.”

Her eyes met his, unflinching, infinitely faithful.

“And I—­I, too, shall be loving you,” she answered, simply.  “Always, Garth—­always.”

CHAPTER XXXV

OUT OF THE NIGHT

Tim was home on sick leave, and, after two perfect weeks of reunion, Elisabeth had written to ask if he might come down to Sunnyside, suggesting that the sea-breezes might advance his convalescence.

“I wonder Mrs. Durward cares to spare him,” commented Selwyn in some surprise.  “It seems out of keeping with her general attitude.  However, we shall be delighted to have him here.  Write and say so, will you, Sara?”

Sara acquiesced briefly, flushing a little.  She thought she could read the motive at the back of Elisabeth’s proposal—­the spirit which, putting up a gallant fight even in the very face of defeat, could make yet a final effort to secure success by throwing Tim and the woman he loved together in the dangerously seductive intimacy of the same household.

But Sara had no fear that Tim would avail himself of the opportunity thus provided in the way Elisabeth doubtless hoped he might.  That matter had been finally settled between herself and him before he went to France, and she knew that he would never again ask her to be his wife.  So she wrote to him serenely, telling him to come down to Monkshaven as soon as he liked; and a few days later found him installed at Sunnyside, nominally under Dr. Selwyn’s care.

He was the same unaffected, spontaneous Tim as of yore, and hugely embarrassed by any reference to his winning of the Military Cross, firmly refusing to discuss the manner of it, even with Sara.