"He is sustained by the belief that he has paid you the highest honour a man can pay to a woman. There is no reason why he should turn his back on you, as a sulky boy might do. No, my dear, I think you may count on him as your best, most loyal friend from this night on. He has just said to me that his greatest pain lies in the fear that you may not be willing to accept him as a simple, honest, unpresuming friend since—"
"Oh, Sara, if he will only be that and nothing more!" cried the girl wonderingly.
Sara smiled confidently. "I fancy you haven't much to fear in that direction, my dear. It isn't in Leslie Wrandall's make-up to court a second repulse. He is all pride. The blow it suffered to-night can't be repeated—at least, not by the same person."
"I am so sorry it had to be Leslie," murmured Hetty.
"Be nice to him, Hetty. He deserves that much of you, to say the least. I should miss him if he found it impossible to come here on account of—"
"I wouldn't have that happen for the world," cried the girl in distress. "He is your dearest friend. Send me away, Sara, if you must. Don't let anything stand in the way of your friendship for Leslie. You depend on him for so much, dear. I can't bear the thought of—"
"Hush, dearest! You are first in my love. Better for me to lose all the others and still have you."
The girl looked at her in wonder for a long time. "Oh, I know you mean it, Sara, but—but how can it be true?"
"Put yourself in my place," was all that Sara said in reply, and her companion had no means of translating the sentence.
She could only remain mute and wondering, her eyes fixed on that other mystery: the cameo face in the moon that hung high above the sombre forest.