CHAPTER XXI.
THE PITILESS ALTAR Elisabeth was pacing restlessly up and down the broad, flagged terrace at Barrow, impatiently awaiting Tim's return from Monkshaven.
She knew his errand there.

He had scarcely needed to tell her the contents of Sara's letter, so swiftly had she summed up the immediate connection between the glimpse she had caught of Sara's handwriting and the shadow on the beloved face.
She moved eagerly to meet him as she heard the soft purr of the motor coming up the drive.
"Well ?" she queried, slipping her arm through his and drawing him towards the terrace.
Tim looked at her with troubled eyes.

He could guess so exactly what her attitude would be, and he was not going to allow even Elisabeth to say unkind things about the woman he loved.

If he could prevent it, she should not think them.
Very gently, and with infinite tact, he told her the result of his interview with Sara, concealing so far as might be his own incalculable hurt.
To his relief, his mother accepted the facts with unexpected tolerance.
He could not see her expression, since her eyes veiled themselves with down-dropped lids, but she spoke quite quietly and as though trying to be fair in her judgment.

There was no outward sign by which her son might guess the seething torrent of anger and resentment which had been aroused within her.
"But if, as you tell me, Sara doesn't expect to marry this man she cares for, surely she had been unduly hasty?
If he can never be anything to her, need she set aside all thought of matrimony ?" Tim stared at his mother in some surprise.