Katharine’s heart beat fast and then stood still. Sassoon! That was the name of the man Valiant’s father had killed in that old duel of which Judge Chalmers had told! “If her mother”—Shirley Dandridge’s mother—“was in love with Sassoon!” Why— “Was she?” The major’s query held a sharpness that seemed almost appeal. She was conscious that the other had faced about abruptly. “I’ve always believed so, certainly. If she had loved Valiant, would she have thrown him over [Pg 332]merely because he broke his promise not to be a party to a quarrel?” “You think not?” said the major huskily. “Not under the circumstances. Valiant was forced into it. No gentleman, at that day, could have declined the meeting. He could have explained it to Judith’s satisfaction—a woman doesn’t need much evidence to justify the man she’s in love with. He must have written her—he couldn’t have gone away without that—and if she had loved him, she would have called him back.” The major made no answer. Katharine saw a cigar fall unheeded upon the grass, where it lay glowing like a panther’s eye. The other had risen now, his stooped figure bulking in the moonlight. His voice sounded harsh and strained: “I loved Beauty Valiant,” he said, “and his son is his son to me—but I have to think of Judith, too. She fainted, Bristow, when she saw him—Shirley told me about it. Her mother has made her think it was the scent of the roses! He’s his father’s living image, and he’s brought the past back with him. Every sound of his voice, every sight of his face, will be a separate stab! Oh, his mere presence will be enough for Judith to bear. But with her heart in the grave with Sassoon, what would love between Shirley and young Valiant mean to her? Think of it!” He broke off, and there was a blank of silence, in [Pg 333]which he turned with almost a sigh. Then Katharine saw him reach the bench with a single stride and drop his hand on the bowed shoulder. “Bristow!” he said bruskly. “You’re ill! This confounded philandering at your time of life—” The major’s face looked ashy pale, but he got up with a laugh. “Not I,” he said; “I was never better in my life! We’ve had our mouthful of air. Come on back to the house.” “Not much!” grunted the other. “I’m going where we both ought to have been hours ago.” He threw away his cigar and stalked down the path into the darkness. The major stood looking after him till he had disappeared, then suddenly dropped on the bench and covered his face. Something like a groan burst from him. “My God!” he said, and his voice came to Katharine with a quaver of age and suffering—very different from the jovial accents of the ballroom—“if I were only sure it was Sassoon!” Presently he rose, and went slowly toward the lighted doorway. [Pg 334] CHAPTER XXXVIII THE AMBUSH