Her mouth quivered. "Stand up to it!" . . . The voice--Patrick's
voice--seemed to sound in her ear . . . "Stand up to it, little old
pal!"

She bit back the sob that climbed to her throat, and stood silently
facing the enemy, as it were.

This was the end, then, of one chapter of her existence--the chapter of
sheltered, happy life at Barrow, and in these quiet moments, alone for
the last time with Patrick Lovell, Sara tried to gather strength and
courage from her memories of his cheery optimism to face gamely whatever
might befall her in the big world into which she must so soon adventure.



CHAPTER III

A SHEAF OF MEMORIES

It was over. The master of Barrow had been carried shoulder-high to the
great vault where countless Lovells slept their last sleep, the blinds
had been drawn up, letting in the wintry sunlight once again, and the
mourners had gone their ways. Only the new owner of the Court still
lingered, and even he would be leaving very soon now.

Sara, her slim, boyish build, with its long line of slender hip,
accentuated by the clinging black of her gown, moved listlessly across
the hall to where Major Durward was standing smoking by the big open
fire, waiting for the car which was to take him to the station.