Once years ago there had been a month during which she had met him daily.

She had given her heart to him, yet she had learned little or nothing of the man within the man's frame.

She had not even made his acquaintance.

That had been proved to her one memorable morning upon the top of Bignor Hill, when humiliation had so deeply seared her soul that only during this last month had it been healed.

In the great extremities of her life Henry Thresk had decided, not she, and he was a stranger to her.