Army—­because I was afraid.  And then the war came, and he had to go.  Thank God—­oh, thank God!—­he never failed! . . .  I suppose I am a bad woman—­I don’t know . . .  I fought for my own love and happiness first, and afterwards for my son’s.  But, at least, I’m not bad enough to let Maurice go on bearing . . . what he has borne . . . now that he has saved Tim’s life.  He has given me the only thing . . . left to me . . . of value in the whole world.  In return, I can give him the one thing that matters to him—­his good name.  Henceforth Maurice is a free man.”

“What are you saying?”

The sharp, staccato question cut across Elisabeth’s quiet, concentrated speech like a rapier thrust, snapping the strained attention of her listeners, who turned, with one accord, to see Kennedy himself standing at the threshold of the room, his eyes fastened on Elisabeth’s face.

She met his glance composedly; on her lips a queer little smile which held an indefinable pathos and appeal.

“I am telling them the truth—­at last, Maurice,” she said calmly.  “I have told them the true story of the court-martial.”

“You—­you have told them that?” he stammered.  He was very pale.  The sudden realization of all that her words implied seemed to overwhelm him.

“Yes.”  She rose and moved quietly to the door, then face to face with Kennedy, she halted.  Her eyes rested levelly on his; in her bearing there was something aloofly proud—­an undiminished stateliness, almost regal in its calm inviolability.  “They know—­now—­all that I took from you.  I shall not ask your forgiveness, Maurice . . .  I don’t expect it.  I sinned for my husband and my son—­that is my only justification.  I would do the same again.”

Instinctively Maurice stood aside as she swept past him, her head unbowed, splendid even in her moment of surrender—­almost, it seemed, unbeaten to the last.

For a moment there was a silence—­palpitant, packed with conflicting emotion.

Then, with a little choking sob, Sara ran across the room to Maurice and caught his hands in hers, smiling whilst the tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Oh, my dear!” she cried brokenly.  “Oh, my dear!”

CHAPTER XXXIX

HARVEST

“There shall never be one lost good!  What was, shall live
as before;
The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound;
What was good, shall be good, with, for evil,
So much good more . . .”

BROWNING.

“How can you prove it, Garth—­Maurice, I mean?”—­Selwyn corrected himself with a smile.  “You’ll need more than Mrs. Durward’s confession to secure official reinstatement by the powers that be.”

The clamour of joyful excitement and wonder and congratulation had spent itself at last, the Lavender Lady had shed a few legitimate tears, and now Selwyn voiced the more serious aspect of the matter.