THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE

ByFlorence L. Barclay

Author OfThe Rosary, Etc. 

Grosset & DunlapPublishers :: New York

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Copyright, 1910BYFLORENCE L. BARCLAY

The Rosary The Following of the StarThe Mistress of Shenstone The Broken HaloThrough the Postern Gate The Wall of PartitionThe Upas Tree My Heart's Right There

This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishersG. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

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ToC. W. B. 

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I On the Terrace at Shenstone 1 II The Forerunner 8 III What Peter Knew 23 IV In Safe Hands 48 V Lady Ingleby's Rest-Cure 61 VI At The Moorhead Inn 77 VII Mrs. O'Mara's Correspondence 82 VIII In Horseshoe Cove 105 IX Jim Airth To The Rescue 111 X "Yeo Ho, We Go!" 114 XI 'Twixt Sea And Sky 129 XII Under The Morning Star 152 XIII The Awakening 159 XIV Golden Days 170 XV "Where Is Lady Ingleby?" 190 XVI Under The Beeches At Shenstone 205 XVII "Surely You Knew?" 214 XVIII What Billy Had To Tell 220 XIX Jim Airth Decides 231 XX A Better Point Of View 250 XXI Michael Veritas 260 XXII Lord Ingleby's Wife 271 XXIII What Billy Knew 289 XXIV Mrs. Dalmain Reviews the Situation 303 XXV The Test 327 XXVI "What Shall We Write?" 337

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THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE

CHAPTER I

ON THE TERRACE AT SHENSTONE

Three o'clock on a dank afternoon, early in November. The wintrysunshine, in fitful gleams, pierced the greyness of the leaden sky. 

The great trees in Shenstone Park stood gaunt and bare, spreading widearms over the sodden grass. All nature seemed waiting the first fall ofwinter's snow, which should hide its deadness and decay under a lovelypall of sparkling white, beneath which a promise of fresh life to comemight gently move and stir; and, eventually, spring forth. 

The Mistress of Shenstone moved slowly up and down the terrace, wrappedin her long cloak, listening to the soft "drip, drip" of autumn allaround; noting the silent fall of the last dead leaves; the steely greyof the lake beyond; the empty flower-garden; the deserted lawn. 

The large stone house had a desolate appearance, most of the rooms being, evidently, closed; but, in one or two, cheerful log-fires blazed, castinga ruddy glow upon the window-panes, and sending forth a tempting promiseof warmth and cosiness within. 

A tiny white toy-poodle walked the terrace with his mistress--an agitatedlittle bundle of white curls; sometimes running round and round her; thenhurrying on before, or dropping behind, only to rush on, in unexpectedhaste, at the corners; almost tripping her up, as she turned. 

"Peter, " said Lady Ingleby, on one of these occasions, "I do wish youwould behave in a more rational manner! Either come to heel and followsedately, as a dog of your age should do; or trot on in front, in thegaily juvenile manner you assume when Michael takes you out for a walk;but, for goodness sake, don't be so fidgety; and don't run round andround me in this bewildering way, or I shall call for William, and sendyou in. I only wish Michael could see you!"

The little animal looked up at her, pathetically, through his tumbledcurls--a soft silky mass, which had earned for him his name ofShockheaded Peter. His eyes, red-rimmed from the cold wind, had thatunseeing look, often noticeable in a very old dog. Yet there was in them, and in the whole pose of his tiny body, an anguish of anxiety, whichcould not have escaped a genuine dog-lover. Even Lady Ingleby becamepartially aware of it. She stooped and patted his head. 

"Poor little Peter, " she said, more kindly. "It is horrid, for us both, having Michael so far away at this tiresome war. But he will come homebefore long; and we shall forget all the anxiety and loneliness. It willbe spring again. Michael will have you properly clipped, and we will goto Brighton, where you enjoy trotting about, and hearing people call you'The British Lion. ' I verily believe you consider yourself the size ofthe lions in Trafalgar Square! I cannot imagine why a great big man, suchas Michael, is so devoted to a tiny scrap of a dog, such as you! Now, ifyou were a Great Dane, or a mighty St. Bernard--! However, Michael lovesus both, and we both love Michael; so we must be nice to each other, little Peter, while he is away. "

Myra Ingleby smiled, drew the folds of her cloak more closely around her, and moved on. A small white shadow, with no wag to its tail, followeddejectedly behind. 

And the dead leaves, loosing their hold of the sapless branches, fluttered to the sodden turf; and the soft "drip, drip" of autumn fellall around. 

The door of the lower hall opened. A footman, bringing a telegram, camequickly out. His features were set, in well-trained impassivity; but hiseyelids flickered nervously as he handed the silver salver to hismistress. 

Lady Ingleby's lovely face paled to absolute whiteness beneath her largebeaver hat; but she took up the orange envelope with a steady hand, opening it with fingers which did not tremble. As she glanced at thesignature, the colour came back to her cheeks. 

"From Dr. Brand, " she said, with an involuntary exclamation of relief;and the waiting footman turned and nodded furtively toward the house. Amaid, at a window, dropped the blind, and ran to tell the anxioushousehold all was well. 

Meanwhile, Lady Ingleby read her telegram. 

 Visiting patient in your neighbourhood. Can you put me up for the night? Arriving 4. 30. 

 Deryck Brand. 

Lady Ingleby turned to the footman. "William, " she said, "tell Mrs. Jarvis, Sir Deryck Brand is called to this neighbourhood, and will stayhere to-night. They can light a fire at once in the magnolia room, andprepare it for him. He will be here in an hour. Send the motor to thestation. Tell Groatley we will have tea in my sitting-room as soon as SirDeryck arrives. Send down word to the Lodge to Mrs. O'Mara, that I shallwant her up here this evening. Oh, and--by the way--mention at once atthe Lodge that there is no further news from abroad. "

"Yes, m' lady, " said the footman; and Myra Ingleby smiled at thereflection, in the lad's voice and face, of her own immense relief. Heturned and hastened to the house; Peter, in a sudden access of misplacedenergy, barking furiously at his heels. 

Lady Ingleby moved to the front of the terrace and stood beside one ofthe stone lions, close to an empty vase, which in summer had been abrilliant mass of scarlet geraniums. Her face was glad with expectation. 

"Somebody to talk to, at last!" she said. "I had begun to think I shouldhave to brave dear mamma, and return to town. And Sir Deryck of allpeople! He wires from Victoria, so I conclude he sees his patient _enroute_, or in the morning. How perfectly charming of him to give me awhole evening. I wonder how many people would, if they knew of it, bebreaking the tenth commandment concerning me! . .. Peter, you littlefiend! Come here! Why the footmen, and gardeners, and postmen, do notkick out your few remaining teeth, passes me! You pretend to be toounwell to eat your dinner, and then behave like a frantic hyena, becausepoor innocent William brings me a telegram! I shall write and ask Michaelif I may have you hanged. "

And, in high good humour, Lady Ingleby went into the house. 

But, outside, the dead leaves turned slowly, and rustled on the grass;while the soft "drip, drip" of autumn fell all around. The dying year wasalmost dead; and nature waited for her pall of snow. 

CHAPTER II

THE FORERUNNER

"What it is to have somebody to talk to, at last! And _you_, of allpeople, dear Doctor! Though I still fail to understand how a patient, whohas brought you down to these parts, can wait for your visit untilto-morrow morning, thus giving a perfectly healthy person, such asmyself, the inestimable privilege of your company at tea, dinner, andbreakfast, with delightful _tête-à-têtes_ in between. All the world knowsyour minutes are golden. "

Thus Lady Ingleby, as she poured out the doctor's tea, and handed it tohim. 

Deryck Brand placed the cup carefully on his corner of the foldingtea-table, helped himself to thin bread-and-butter; then answered, withhis most charming smile, "Mine would be a very dismal profession dear lady, if it precluded mefrom ever having a meal, or a conversation, or from spending a pleasantevening, with a perfectly healthy person. I find the surest way to liveone's life to the full, accomplishing the maximum amount of work with theminimum amount of strain, is to cultivate the habit of living in thepresent; giving the whole mind to the scene, the subject, the person, ofthe moment. Therefore, with your leave, we will dismiss my patients, pastand future; and enjoy, to the full, this unexpected _tête-à-tête_. "

Myra Ingleby looked at her visitor. His forty-two years sat lightly onhim, notwithstanding the streaks of silver in the dark hair just overeach temple. There was a youthful alertness about the tall athleticfigure; but the lean brown face, clean shaven and reposeful, held a lookof quiet strength and power, mingled with a keen kindliness and readycomprehension, which inspired trust, and drew forth confidence. 

The burden of a great loneliness seemed lifted from Myra's heart. 

"Do you always put so much salt on your bread-and-butter?" she said. "Andhow glad I am to be 'the person of the moment. ' Only--until thismysterious 'patient in the neighbourhood' demands your attention, --youought to be having a complete holiday, and I must try to forget that I amtalking to the greatest nerve specialist of the day, and only realise thepleasure of entertaining so good a friend of Michael's and my own. Otherwise I should be tempted to consult you; for I really believe, SirDeryck, for the first time in my life, I am becoming neurotic. "

The doctor did not need to look at his hostess. His practised eye hadalready noted the thin cheeks; the haunted look; the purple shadowsbeneath the lovely grey eyes, for which the dark fringes of blackeyelashes were not altogether accountable. He leaned forward and lookedinto the fire. 

"If such is really the case, " he said, "that you should be aware of it, is so excellent a symptom, that the condition cannot be serious. But Iwant you to remember, Lady Ingleby, that I count all my patients, friends; also that my friends may consider themselves at liberty, at anymoment, to become my patients. So consult me, if I can be of any use toyou. "

The doctor helped himself to more bread-and-butter, folding it withcareful precision. 

Lady Ingleby held out her hand for his cup, grateful that he did notappear to notice the rush of unexpected tears to her eyes. She busiedherself with the urn until she could control her voice; then said, with arather tremulous laugh: "Ah, thank you! Presently--if I may--I gladlywill consult you. Meanwhile, how do you like 'the scene of the moment'?Do you consider my boudoir improved? Michael made all these alterationsbefore he went away. The new electric lights are a patent arrangement ofhis own. And had you seen his portrait? A wonderful likeness, isn't it?"

The doctor looked around him, appreciatively. 

"I have been admiring the room, ever since I entered, " he said. "It ischarming. " Then he raised his eyes to the picture over themantelpiece:--the life-sized portrait of a tall, bearded man, with thehigh brow of the scholar and thinker; the eyes of the mystic; thegentle unruffled expression of the saint. He appeared old enough to bethe father of the woman in whose boudoir his portrait was the centralobject. The artist had painted him in an old Norfolk shooting-suit, leather leggings, hunting-crop in hand, seated in a garden chair, besidea rustic table. Everything in the picture was homely, old, andcomfortable; the creases in the suit were old friends; the ancienttobacco pouch on the table was worn and stained. Russet-brownpredominated, and the highest light in the painting was the clear blueof those dreamy, musing eyes. They were bent upon the table, wheresat, in an expectant attitude of adoring attention, a white toy-poodle. The palpable devotion between the big man and the tiny dog, theconcentrated affection with which they looked at one another, were verycleverly depicted. The picture might have been called: "We two"; alsoit left an impression of a friendship in which there had been no room fora third. The doctor glanced, for an instant, at the lovely woman onthe lounge, behind the silver urn, and his subconsciousness propounded thequestion: "Where did _she_ come in?" But the next moment he turnedtowards the large armchair on his right, where a small dejected mass ofwhite curls lay in a huddled heap. It was impossible to distinguishbetween head and tail. 

"Is this the little dog?" asked the doctor. 

"Yes; that is Peter. But in the picture he is smart and properly clipped, and feeling better than he does just now. Peter and Michael are devotedto each other; and, when Michael is away, Peter is left in my charge. ButI am not fond of small dogs; and I really consider Peter very muchspoilt. Also I always feel he just tolerates me because I am Michael'swife, and remains with me because, where I am, there Michael will return. But I am quite kind to him, for Michael's sake. Only he really is a nastylittle dog; and too old to be allowed to continue. Michael always speaksof him as if he were quite too good to live; and, personally, I think itis high time he went where all good dogs go. I cannot imagine what is thematter with him now. Since yesterday afternoon he has refused all hisfood, and been so restless and fidgety. He always sleeps on Michael'sbed; and, as a rule, after I have put him there, and closed the doorbetween Michael's room and mine, I hear no more of Peter, until he barksto be let out in the morning, and my maid takes him down-stairs. But lastnight, he whined and howled for hours. At length I got up, foundMichael's old shooting jacket--the very one in the portrait--and laid iton the bed. Peter crawled into it, and cuddled down, I folded the sleevesaround him, and he seemed content. But to-day he still refuses to eat. Ibelieve he is dyspeptic, or has some other complaint, such as dogsdevelop when they are old. Honestly--don't you think--a little effectivepoison, in an attractive pill----?"

"Oh, hush!" said the doctor. "Peter may not be asleep. "

Lady Ingleby laughed. "My dear Sir Deryck! Do you suppose animalsunderstand our conversation?"

"Indeed I do, " replied the doctor. "And more than that, they do notrequire the medium of language. Their comprehension is telepathic. Theyread our thoughts. A nervous rider or driver can terrify a horse. Dumbcreatures will turn away from those who think of them with dislike oraversion; whereas a true lover of animals can win them without a spokenword. The thought of love and of goodwill reaches them telepathically, winning instant trust and response. Also, if we take the trouble to doso, we can, to a great extent, arrive at their ideas, in the same way. "

"Extraordinary!" exclaimed Lady Ingleby. "Well, I wish you wouldthought-read what is the matter with Peter. I shall not know how to faceMichael's home-coming, if anything goes wrong with his belovèd dog. "

The doctor lay back in his armchair; crossed his knees the one over theother; rested his elbows on the arms of the chair; then let hisfinger-tips meet very exactly. Instinctively he assumed the attitude inwhich he usually sat when bending his mind intently on a patient. Presently he turned and looked steadily at the little white heap curledup in the big armchair. 

The room was very still. 

"Peter!" said the doctor, suddenly. 

Peter sat up at once, and peeped at the doctor, through his curls. 

"Poor little Peter, " said the doctor, kindly. 

Peter moved to the edge of the chair; sat very upright, and lookedeagerly across to where the doctor was sitting. Then he wagged his tail, tapping the chair with quick, anxious, little taps. 

"The first wag I have seen in twenty-four hours, " remarked Lady Ingleby;but neither Deryck Brand nor Shockheaded Peter heeded the remark. 

The anxious eyes of the dog were gazing, with an agony of question, intothe kind keen eyes of the man. 

Without moving, the doctor spoke. 

"_Yes_, little Peter, " he said. 

Peter's small tufted tail ceased thumping. He sat very still for amoment; then quietly moved back to the middle of the chair, turned roundand round three or four times; then lay down, dropping his head betweenhis paws with one long shuddering sigh, like a little child which hassobbed itself to sleep. 

The doctor turned, and looked at Lady Ingleby. 

"What does that mean?" queried Myra, astonished. 

"Little Peter asked a question, " replied Sir Deryck, gravely; "and Ianswered it. "

"Wonderful! Will you talk this telepathy over with Michael when he comeshome? It would interest him. "

The doctor looked into the fire. 

"It is a big subject, " he said. "When I can spare the time, I am thinkingof writing an essay on the mental and spiritual development of animals, as revealed in the Bible. "

"Balaam's ass?" suggested Lady Ingleby, promptly. 

The doctor smiled. "Quite so, " he said. "But Balaam's ass is neither theonly animal in the Bible, nor the most interesting case. Have you evernoticed the many instances in which animals immediately obeyed God'scommands, even when those commands ran counter to their strongestinstincts? For instance:--the lion, who met the disobedient man of God onthe road from Bethel. The instinct of the beast, after slaying the man, would have been to maul the body, drag it away into his lair, and devourit. But the Divine command was:--that he should slay, but not eat thecarcass, nor tear the ass. The instinct of the ass would have been toflee in terror from the lion; but, undoubtedly, a Divine assuranceovercame her natural fear; and all men who passed by beheld thisremarkable sight:--a lion and an ass standing sentry, one on either sideof the dead body of the man of God; and there they remained until the oldprophet from Bethel arrived, to fetch away the body and bury it. "

"Extraordinary!" said Lady Ingleby. "So they did. And now one comes tothink of it there are plenty of similar instances. The instinct of theserpent which Moses lifted up on a pole, would have been to comescriggling down, and go about biting the Israelites, instead of stayingup on the pole, to be looked at for their healing. "

The doctor smiled. "Quite so, " he said, "Only, we must not quote him asan instance; because, being made of brass, I fear he was devoid ofinstinct. Otherwise he would have been an excellent case in point. And Ibelieve animals possess far more spiritual life than we suspect. Do youremember a passage in the Psalms which says that the lions 'seek theirmeat from God'? And, more striking still, in the same Psalm we read ofthe whole brute creation, that when God hides His face 'they aretroubled. ' Good heavens!" said the doctor, earnestly; "I wish _our_spiritual life always answered to these two tests:--that God's willshould be paramount over our strongest instincts; and that any cloudbetween us and the light of His face, should cause us instant trouble ofsoul. "

"I like that expression 'spiritual life, '" said Lady Ingleby. "I am sureyou mean by it what other people sometimes express so differently. Didyou hear of the Duchess of Meldrum attending that big evangelisticmeeting in the Albert Hall? I really don't know exactly what it was. Somesort of non-sectarian mission, I gather, with a preacher over fromAmerica; and the meetings went on for a fortnight. It would never haveoccurred to me to go to them. But the dear old duchess always likes to be'in the know' and to sample everything. Besides, she holds a proprietarystall. So she sailed into the Albert Hall one afternoon, in excellenttime, and remained throughout the entire proceedings. She enjoyed thesinging; thought the vast listening crowd, marvellous; was moved to tearsby the eloquence of the preacher, and was leaving the hall more touchedthan she had been for years, and fully intending to return, bringingothers with her, when a smug person, hovering about the entrance, accosted her with: 'Excuse me madam; are you a Christian?' The duchessraised her lorgnette in blank amazement, and looked him tip and down. Very likely the tears still glistened upon her proud old face. Anywaythis impossible person appears to have considered her a promising case. Emboldened by her silence, he laid his hand upon her arm, and repeatedhis question: 'Madam, are you a Christian?' Then the duchess awoke to thesituation with a vengeance. 'My good man, ' she said, clearly anddeliberately, so that all in the lobby could hear; 'I should have thoughtit would have been perfectly patent to your finely trained perceptions, that I am an engaging mixture of Jew, Turk, Infidel, and Heathen Chinee!Now, if you will kindly stand aside, I will pass to my carriage. '--Andthe duchess sampled no more evangelistic meetings!"

The doctor sighed. "Tactless, " he said. "Ah, the pity of it, when 'foolsrush in where angels fear to tread!'"

"People scream with laughter, when the duchess tells it, " said LadyIngleby; "but then she imitates the unctuous person so exactly; and shedoes not mention the tears. I have them from an eye-witness. But--as Iwas saying--I like your expression: 'spiritual life. ' It really holds ameaning; and, though one may have to admit one does not possess any, or, that what one does possess is at a low ebb, yet one sees the genuinething in others, and it is something to believe in, at all events. --Lookhow peacefully little Peter is sleeping. You have evidently set his mindat rest. That is Michael's armchair; and, therefore, Peter's. Now we willsend away the tea-things; and then--may I become a patient?"

CHAPTER III

WHAT PETER KNEW

"Isn't my good Groatley a curious looking person?" said Lady Ingleby, asthe door closed behind the butler. "I call him the Gryphon, because helooks perpetually astonished. His eyebrows are like black horseshoes, andthey mount higher and higher up his forehead as one's sentence proceeds. But he is very faithful, and knows his work, and Michael approves him. Doyou like this portrait of Michael? Garth Dalmain stayed here a few monthsbefore he lost his sight, poor boy, and painted us both. I believe minewas practically his last portrait. It hangs in the dining-room. "

The doctor moved his chair opposite the fireplace, so that he could sitfacing the picture over the mantelpiece, yet turn readily toward LadyIngleby on his left. On his right, little Peter, with an occasionalsobbing sigh, slept heavily in his absent master's chair. The log-fireburned brightly. The electric light, from behind amber glass, sent agolden glow as of sunshine through the room. The dank damp drip of autumnhad no place in this warm luxury. The curtains were closely drawn; andthat which is not seen, can be forgotten. 

The doctor glanced at the clock. The minute-hand pointed to the quarterbefore six. 

He lifted his eyes to the picture. 

"I hardly know Lord Ingleby sufficiently well to give an opinion; but Ishould say it is an excellent likeness, possessing, to a large degree, the peculiar quality of all Dalmain's portraits:--the more you look atthem, the more you see in them. They are such extraordinary characterstudies. With your increased knowledge of the person, grows yourappreciation of the cleverness of the portrait. "

"Yes, " said Lady Ingleby, leaning forward to look intently up at thepicture. "It often startles me as I come into the room, because I see afresh expression on the face, just according to my own mood, or what Ihappen to have been doing; and I realise Michael's mind on the subjectmore readily from the portrait than from my own knowledge of him. GarthDalmain was a genius!"

"Now tell me, " said the doctor, gently. "Why did you leave town, yourmany friends, your interests there, in order to bury yourself down here, during this dismal autumn weather? Surely the strain of waiting for newswould have been less, within such easy reach of the War Office and of theevening papers. "

Lady Ingleby laughed, rather mirthlessly. 

"I came away, Sir Deryck, partly to escape from dear mamma; and as you donot know dear mamma, it is almost impossible for you to understand howessential it was to escape. When Michael is away, I am defenceless. Mammaswoops down; takes up her abode in my house; reduces my household, according to their sex and temperament, to rage, hysterics, or despair;tells unpalatable home-truths to my friends, so that all--save theduchess--flee discomforted. Then mamma proceeds to 'divide the spoil'! Inother words: she lies in wait for my telegrams, and opens them herself, saying that if they contain _good_ news, a dutiful daughter shoulddelight in at once sharing it with her; whereas, if they contain _bad_news, which heaven forbid!--and surely, with mamma snorting skyward, heaven would not venture to do otherwise!--_she_ is the right person tobreak it to me, gently. I bore it for six weeks; then fled down here, well knowing that not even the dear delight of bullying me would bringmamma to Shenstone in autumn. "

The doctor's face was grave. For a moment he looked silently into thefire. He was a man of many ideals, and foremost among them was his idealof the relation which should be between parents and children; of theloyalty to a mother, which, even if forced to admit faults or failings, should tenderly shield them from the knowledge or criticism of outsiders. It hurt him, as a sacrilege, to hear a daughter speak thus of her mother;yet he knew well, from facts which were common knowledge, how littlecause the sweet, lovable woman at his side had to consider the tie eithera sacred or a tender one. He had come to help, not to find fault. Also, the minute-hand was hastening towards the hour; and the finalinstructions of the kind-hearted old Duchess of Meldrum, as she partedfrom him at the War Office, had been: "Remember! Six o'clock from London. I shall _insist_ upon its being kept back until then. If they makedifficulties, I shall camp in the entrance and 'hold up' every messengerwho attempts to pass out. But I am accustomed to have my own way withthese good people. I should not hesitate to ring up Buckingham Palace, ifnecessary, as they very well know! So you may rest assured it will notleave London until six o'clock. It gives you ample time. "

Therefore the doctor said: "I understand. It does not come within my ownexperience; yet I think I understand. But tell me, Lady Ingleby. If badnews were to come, would you sooner receive it direct from the WarOffice, in the terribly crude wording which cannot be avoided in thosetelegrams; or would you rather that a friend--other than yourmother--broke it to you, more gently?"

Myra's eyes flashed. She sat up with instant animation. 

"Oh, I would receive it direct, " she said. "It would be far less hard, ifit were official. I should hear the roll of the drums, and see the waveof the flag. For England, and for Honour! A soldier's daughter, and asoldier's wife, should be able to stand up to anything. If they had totell me Michael was in great danger, I should share his danger inreceiving the news without flinching. If he were wounded, as I read thetelegram I should receive a wound myself, and try to be as brave as he. All which came direct from the war, would unite me to Michael. Butinterfering friends, however well-meaning, would come between. If _he_had not been shielded from a bullet or a sword-thrust, why should _I_ beshielded from the knowledge of his wound?"

The doctor screened his face with his hand, "I see, " he said. 

The clock struck six. 

"But that was not the only reason I left town, " continued Lady Ingleby, with evident effort. Then she flung out both hands towards him. "Oh, doctor! I wonder if I might tell you a thing which has been a burden onmy heart and life for years!"

There followed a tense moment of silence; but the doctor was used to suchmoments, and could usually determine during the silence, whether theconfidence should be allowed or avoided. He turned and looked steadily atthe lovely wistful face. 

It was the face of an exceedingly beautiful woman, nearing thirty. Butthe lovely eyes still held the clear candour of the eyes of a littlechild, the sweet lips quivered with quickly felt emotion, the low browshowed no trace of shame or sin. The doctor knew he was in the presenceof one of the most popular hostesses, one of the most admired women, inthe kingdom. Yet his keen professional insight revealed to him anarrested development; possibilities unfulfilled; a problem of inadequacyand consequent disappointment, to which he had not the key. But thoseoutstretched hands eagerly held it towards him. Could he bring help, ifhe accepted a knowledge of the solution; or--did help come too late?

"Dear Lady Ingleby, " he said, quietly; "tell me anything you like; thatis to say, anything which you feel assured Lord Ingleby would allowdiscussed with a third person. "

Myra leaned back among the cushions and laughed--a gay little laugh, halfof amusement, half of relief. 

"Oh, Michael would not mind!" she said. "Anything Michael would mind, Ihave always told straight to himself; and they were silly little things;such as foolish people trying to make love to me; or a foreign prince, with moustaches like the German Emperor's, offering to shoot Michael, ifI would promise to marry him when his period of consequent imprisonmentwas over. I cut the idiots who had presumed to make love to me, everafter; and assured the foreign prince, I should undoubtedly kill himmyself, if he hurt a hair of Michael's head! No, dear doctor. My life isclear of all that sort of complication. My trouble is a harder one, involving one's whole life-problem. And that problem is incompetence andinadequacy--not towards the world, I should not care a rap for that; buttowards the one to whom I owe most: towards Michael, --my husband. "

The doctor moved uneasily in his chair, and glanced at the clock. 

"Oh, hush!" he said. "Do not----"

"No!" cried Myra. "You must not stop me. Let me at last have the reliefof speech! My friend, I am twenty-eight; I have had ten years of marriedlife; yet I do not believe I have ever really grown up! In heart andbrain I am an undeveloped child, and I know it; and, worse still, Michaelknows it, and--_Michael does not mind_. Listen! It dates back to yearsago. Mamma never allowed any of her daughters to grow up. We werepermitted no individuality of our own, no opinions, no independence. Allthat was required of us, was to 'do her behests, and follow in hertrain. ' Forgive the misquotation. We were always children in mamma'seyes. We grew tall; we grew good-looking; but we never grew up. Weremained children, to be snubbed, domineered over, and bullied. Mysisters, who were good children, had plenty of jam and cake; and, eventually, husbands after mamma's own heart were found for them. Perhapsyou know how those marriages have turned out?"

Lady Ingleby paused, and the doctor made an almost imperceptible sign ofassent. One of the ladies in question, a most unhappy woman, was undertreatment in his Mental Sanatorium at that very moment; but he doubtedwhether Lady Ingleby knew it. 

"I was the black sheep, " continued Myra, finding no remark forthcoming. "Nothing I did was ever right; everything I did was always wrong. WhenMichael met me I was nearly eighteen, the height I am now, but in thenursery, as regards mental development or knowledge of the world; and, asregards character, a most unhappy, utterly reckless, little child. Michael's love, when at last I realised it, was wonderful to me. Tenderness, appreciation, consideration, were experiences so novel thatthey would have turned my head, had not the elation they produced beencounterbalanced by a gratitude which was overwhelming; and a terror ofbeing handed back to mamma, which would have made me agree to anything. Years later, Michael told me that what first attracted him to me was alook in my eyes just like the look in those of a favourite spaniel ofhis, who was always in trouble with everyone else, and had just beenaccidentally shot, by a keeper. Michael told me this himself; and reallythought I should be pleased! Somehow it gave me the key to my standingwith him--just that of a very tenderly-loved pet dog. No words can sayhow good he has always been to me. If I lost him, I should lose myall--everything which makes home, home; and life a safe, and certain, thing. But if _he_ lost little Peter, it would be a more real loss to himthan if he lost me; because Peter is more intelligent for his size, andreally more of an actual companion to Michael, than I am. Many a time, when he has passed through my room on the way to his, with Peter tuckedsecurely under his arm; and saying, 'Good-night, my dear, ' to me, hasgone in and shut the door, I have felt I could slay little Peter, becausehe had the better place, and because he looked at me through his curls, as he was carried away, as if to say: '_You_ are out of it!' Yet I knew Ihad all I deserved; and Michael's kindness and goodness and patience werebeyond words. Only--only--ah, _can_ you understand? I would sooner he hadfound fault and scolded; I would sooner have been shaken and called afool, than smiled at, and left alone. I was in the nursery when hemarried me; I have been in the school-room ever since, trying to learnlife's lessons, alone, without a teacher. Nothing has helped me to growup. Michael has always told me I am perfect, and everything I do isperfect, and he does not want me different. But I have never reallyshared his life and interests. If I make idiotic mistakes he does notcorrect me. I have to find them out, when I repeat them before others. When I made that silly blunder about the brazen serpent, you so kindlyput me right. Michael would have smiled and let it pass as not worthcorrecting; then I should have repeated it before a roomful of people, and wondered why they looked amused! Ah, but what do I care for people, or the world! It is my true place beside Michael I want to win. I want to'grow up unto him in all things. ' Yes, I know that is a text. I am famousfor misquotations, or rather, misapplications. But it expresses mymeaning--as the duchess remarks, when _she_ has said something mild underprovocation, and her parrot swears!--And now tell me, dear wise kinddoctor; you, who have been the lifelong friend of that grand creature, Jane Dalmain; you, who have done so much for dozens of women I know; tellme how I can cease to be inadequate towards my husband. "

The passionate flow of words ceased suddenly. Lady Ingleby leaned backagainst the cushions. 

Peter sighed in his sleep. 

A clock in the hall chimed the quarter after six. 

The doctor looked steadily into the fire. He seemed to find speechdifficult. 

At last he said, in a voice which shook slightly: "Dear Lady Ingleby, hedid not--he does not--think you so. "

"No, no!" she cried, sitting forward again. "He thinks of me nothing butwhat is kind and right. But he never expected me to be more than a nice, affectionate, good-looking dog; and I--I have not known how to be betterthan his expectations. But, although he is so patient, he sometimes growsunutterably tired of being with me. All other pet creatures are dumb; butI love talking, and I constantly say silly things, which do not _sound_silly, until I have said them. He goes off to Norway, fishing; to theEngadine, mountain-climbing; to this horrid war, risking his preciouslife. Anywhere to get away alone; anywhere to----"

"Hush, " said the doctor, and laid a firm brown hand, for a moment, on thewhite fluttering fingers. "You are overwrought by the suspense of thesepast weeks. You know perfectly well that Lord Ingleby volunteered forthis border war because he was so keen on experimenting with his newexplosives, and on trying these ideas for using electricity in modernwarfare, at which he has worked so long. "

"Oh, yes, I know, " said Myra, smiling wistfully. "Tiresome things, whichkeep him hours in his laboratory. And he has some very clever plan forlong distance signalling from fort to fort--hieroglyphics in the sky, isn't it? you know what I mean. But the fact that he volunteered into allthis danger, merely to do experimenting, makes it harder to bear than ifhe had been at the head of his old regiment, and gone at the imperativecall of duty. However--nothing matters so long as he comes home safely. And now you--you, Sir Deryck--must help me to become a real helpmeet toMichael. Tell me how you helped--oh, very well, we will not mentionnames. But give me wise advice. Give me hope; give me courage. Make mestrong. "

The doctor looked at the clock; and, even as he looked, the chimes in thehall rang out the half-hour. 

"You have not yet told me, " he said, speaking very slowly, as iflistening for some other sound; "you have not yet told me, your secondreason for leaving town. "

"Ah, " said Lady Ingleby, and her voice held a deeper, older, tone--a notebordering on tragedy. "Ah! I left town, Sir Deryck, because other peoplewere teaching me love-lessons, and I did not want to learn them apartfrom Michael. I stayed with Jane Dalmain and her blind husband, beforethey went back to Gleneesh. You remember? They were in town for theproduction of his symphony. I saw that ideal wedded life, and I realisedsomething of what a perfect mating of souls could mean. And then--well, there were others; people who did not understand how wholly I amMichael's; nothing actually wrong; but not so fresh and youthful asBilly's innocent adoration; and I feared I should accidentally learn whatonly Michael must teach. Therefore I fled away! Oh, doctor; if I everlearned from another man, that which I have failed to learn from my ownhusband, I should lie at Michael's feet and implore him to kill me!"

The doctor looked up at the portrait over the mantelpiece. The calmpassionless face smiled blandly at the tiny dog. One sensitive hand, white and delicate as a woman's, was raised, forefinger uplifted, gentlyholding the attention of the little animal's eager eyes. The magic skillof the artist supplied the doctor with the key to the problem. A_woman_--as mate, as wife, as part of himself, was not a necessity in thelife of this thinker, inventor, scholar, saint. He could appreciate dumbdevotion; he was capable of unlimited kindness, leniency, patience, toleration. But woman and dog alike, remained outside the citadel of hisinner self. Had not her eyes resembled those of a favourite spaniel, hewould very probably not have wedded the lovely woman who, now, during tenyears had borne his name; and even then he might not have done so, hadnot the tyranny of her mother, awakening his instinct of protectiontowards the weak and oppressed, aroused in him a determination towithstand that tyranny, and to carry her off triumphantly to freedom. 

The longer the doctor looked, the more persistently the picture said; "Wetwo; and where does _she_ come in?"--Righteous wrath arose in the heartof Deryck Brand; for his ideal as to man's worship of woman was a highone. As he thought of the closed door; of the lonely wife, humbly jealousof a toy-poodle, yet blaming herself only, for her loneliness, his jawset, and his brow darkened. And all the while he listened for a soundfrom the outer world which must soon come. 

Lady Ingleby noticed his intent gaze, and, leaning forward, also lookedup at the picture. The firelight shone on her lovely face, and on thegleaming softness of her hair. Her lips parted in a tender smile; a pureradiance shone from her eyes. 

"Ah, he _is_ so good!" she said. "In all the years, he has never oncespoken harshly to me. And see how lovingly he looks at Peter, who reallyis a most unattractive little dog. Did you ever hear the duchess's _bonmot_ about Michael? He and I once stayed together at Overdene; but shedid not ask us again until he was abroad, fishing in Norway; so of courseI went by myself. The duchess always does those things frankly, andexplains them. Therefore on this occasion she said: 'My dear, I enjoy avisit from you; but you must only come, when you can come alone. I willnever undertake again, to live up to your good Michael. It really was acase of St. Michael and All Angels. _He_ was St. Michael, and _we_ had tobe all angels!' Wasn't it like the duchess; and a beautiful testimony toMichael's consistent goodness? Oh, I wish you knew him better. And, forthe matter of that, I wish I knew him better! But after all I _am_ hiswife. Nothing can rob me of that. And don't you think--when Michael comeshome this time--somehow, all will be different; better than everbefore?"

The hall clock chimed three-quarters after the hour. 

The clang of a bell resounded through the silent house. 

Peter sat up, and barked once, sharply. 

The doctor rose and stood with his back to the fire, facing the door. 

Myra's question remained unanswered. 

Hurried steps approached. 

A footman entered, with a telegram for Lady Ingleby. 

She took it with calm fingers, and without the usual sinking of the heartfrom sudden apprehension. Her mind was full of the conversation of themoment, and the doctor's presence made her feel so strong and safe; sosure of no approach of evil tidings. 

She did not hear Sir Deryck's quiet voice say to the man: "You need notwait. "

As the door closed, the doctor turned away, and stood looking into thefire. 

The room was very still. 

Lady Ingleby opened her telegram, unfolded it slowly, and read it throughtwice. 

Afterwards she sat on, in such absolute silence that, at length, thedoctor turned and looked at her. 

She met his eyes, quietly. 

"Sir Deryck, " she said, "it is from the War Office. They tell me Michaelhas been killed. Do you think it is true?"

She handed him the telegram. Taking it from her, he read it in silence. Then: "Dear Lady Ingleby, " he said, very gently, "I fear there is nodoubt. He has given his life for his country. You will be as brave ingiving him, as he would wish his wife to be. "

Myra smiled; but the doctor saw her face slowly whiten. 

"Yes, " she said; "oh, yes! I will not fail him. I will be adequate--atlast. " Then, as if a sudden thought had struck her: "Did you know ofthis? Is it why you came?"

"Yes, " said the doctor, slowly. "The duchess sent me. She was at the WarOffice this morning when the news came in, inquiring for Ronald Ingram, who has been wounded, and is down with fever. She telephoned for me, andinsisted on the telegram being kept back until six o'clock this evening, in order to give me time to get here, and to break the news to you first, if it seemed well. "

Myra gazed at him, wide-eyed. "And you let me say all that, about Michaeland myself?"

"Dear lady, " said the doctor, and few had ever heard that deep firmvoice, so nearly tremulous, "I could not stop you. But you did not sayone word which was not absolutely loving and loyal. "

"How could I have?" queried Myra, her face growing whiter, and her eyeswider and more bright. "I have never had a thought which was not loyaland loving. "

"I know, " said the doctor. "Poor brave heart, --I know. "

Myra took up the telegram, and read it again. 

"Killed, " she said; "_killed_. I wish I knew how. "

"The duchess is ready to come to you immediately, if you would like tohave her, " suggested the doctor. 

"No, " said Myra, smiling vaguely. "No; I think not. Not unless dear mammacomes. If that happens we must wire for the duchess, because now--nowMichael is away--she is the only person who can cope with mamma. Butplease not, otherwise; because--well, you see, --she said she could notlive up to Michael; and it does not sound funny now. "

"Is there anybody you would wish sent for at once?" inquired the doctor, wondering how much larger and brighter those big grey eyes could grow;and whether any living face had ever been so absolutely colourless. 

"Anybody I should wish sent for at once? I don't know. Oh, yes--there isone person; if she could come. Jane--you know? Jane Dalmain. I always sayshe is like the bass of a tune; so solid, and satisfactory, and beneathone. Nothing very bad could happen, if Jane were there. But of coursethis _has_ happened; hasn't it?"

The doctor sat down. 

"I wired to Gleneesh this morning, " he said. "Jane will be here earlyto-morrow. "

"Then lots of people knew before I did?" said Lady Ingleby. 

The doctor did not answer. 

She rose, and stood looking down into the fire; her tall graceful figuredrawn up to its full height, her back to the doctor, whose watchful eyesnever left her for an instant. 

Suddenly she looked across to Lord Ingleby's chair. 

"And I believe _Peter_ knew, " she said, in a loud, high-pitched voice. "Good heavens! Peter knew; and refused his food because Michael was dead. And _I_ said he had dyspepsia! Michael, oh Michael! Your wife didn't knowyou were dead; but your dog knew! Oh Michael, Michael! Little Peterknew!"

She lifted her arms toward the picture of the big man and the tiny dog. 

Then she swayed backward. 

The doctor caught her, as she fell. 

CHAPTER IV

IN SAFE HANDS

All through the night Lady Ingleby lay gazing before her, with brightunseeing eyes. 

The quiet woman from the Lodge, who had been, before her own marriage, adevoted maid-companion to Lady Ingleby, arrived in speechless sorrow, andhelped the doctor tenderly with all there was to do. 

But when consciousness returned, and realisation, they were accompaniedby no natural expressions of grief; simply a settled stony silence; thewhite set face; the bright unseeing eyes. 

Margaret O'Mara knelt, and wept, and prayed, kissing the folded handsupon the silken quilt. But Lady Ingleby merely smiled vaguely; and onceshe said: "Hush, my dear Maggie. At last we will be adequate. "

Several times during the night the doctor came, sitting silently besidethe bed, with watchful eyes and quiet touch. Myra scarcely noticed him, and again he wondered how much larger the big grey eyes would grow, inthe pale setting of that lovely face. 

Once he signed to the other watcher to follow him into the corridor. Closing the door, he turned and faced her. He liked this quiet woman, inher simple black merino gown, linen collar and cuffs, and neatly braidedhair. There was an air of refinement and gentle self-control about her, which pleased the doctor. 

"Mrs. O'Mara, " he said; "she must weep, and she must sleep. "

"She does not weep easily, sir, " replied Margaret O'Mara, "and I haveknown her to lie widely awake throughout an entire night with less causefor sorrow than this. "

"Ah, " said the doctor; and he looked keenly at the woman from the Lodge. "I wonder what else you have known?" he thought. But he did not voice theconjecture. Deryck Brand rarely asked questions of a third person. Hispatients never had to find out that his knowledge of them came throughthe gossip or the breach of confidence of others. 

At last he could allow that fixed unseeing gaze no longer. He decided todo what was necessary, with a quiet nod, in response to Margaret O'Mara'simploring look. He turned back the loose sleeve of the silk nightdress, one firm hand grasped the soft arm beneath it; the other passed over itfor a moment with swift skilful pressure. Even Margaret's anxious eyessaw nothing more; and afterwards Myra often wondered what could havecaused that tiny scar upon the whiteness of her arm. 

Before long she was quietly asleep. The doctor stood looking down uponher. There was tragedy to him in this perfect loveliness. Now the clearcandour of the grey eyes was veiled, the childlike look was no longerthere. It was the face of a woman--and of a woman who had lived, and whohad suffered. 

Watching it, the doctor reviewed the history of those ten years of weddedlife; piecing together that which she herself had told him; his ownshrewd surmisings; and facts, which were common knowledge. 

So much for the past. The present, for a few hours at least, was mercifuloblivion. What would the future bring? She had bravely and faithfully putfrom her all temptation to learn the glory of life, and the completenessof love, from any save from her own husband. And he had failed to teach. Can the deaf teach harmony, or the blind reveal the beauties of blendedcolour?

But the future held no such limitations. The "garden enclosed" was nolonger barred against all others by an owner who ignored its fragrance. The gate would be on the latch, though all unconscious until an eagerhand pressed it, that its bolts and bars were gone, and it dare swingopen wide. 

"Ah, " mused the doctor. "Will the right man pass by? Youth teaches youth;but is there a man amongst us strong enough, and true enough, and pureenough, to teach this woman, nearing thirty, lessons which should havebeen learned during the golden days of girlhood. Surely somewhere on thisearth the One Man walks, and works, and waits, to whom she is to be theOne Woman? God send him her way, in the fulness of time. "

 * * * * *

And in that very hour--while at last Myra slept, and the doctor watched, and mused, and wondered--in that very hour, under an Eastern sky, astrong man, sick of life, worn and disillusioned, fighting a deadlyfever, in the sultry atmosphere of a soldier's tent, cried out inbitterness of soul: "O God, let me die!" Then added the "never-the-less"which always qualifies a brave soul's prayer for immunity from pain:"Unless--unless, O God, there be still some work left on this earth whichonly I can do. "

And the doctor had just said: "Send him her way, O God, in the fulness oftime. "

The two prayers reached the Throne of Omniscience together. 

 * * * * *

Deryck Brand, looking up, saw the quiet eyes of Margaret O'Mara gazinggratefully at him, across the bed. "Thank you, " she whispered. 

He smiled. "Never to be done lightly, Mrs. O'Mara, " he said. "Everythingelse should be tried first. But there are exceptions to the strictestrules, and it is fatal weakness to hesitate when confronted by theexception. Send for me, when she wakes; and, meanwhile, lie down on thatcouch yourself and have some sleep. You are worn out. "

The doctor turned away; but not before he had caught the sudden look ofdumb anguish which leaped into those quiet eyes. He reached the door;paused a moment; then came back. 

"Mrs. O'Mara, " he said, with a hand upon her shoulder, "you have a sorrowof your own?"

She drew away from him, in terror. "Oh, hush!" she whispered. "Don't ask!Don't unnerve me, sir. Help me to think of her, only. " Then, more calmly:"But of course I shall think of none but her, while she needs me. Only--only, sir--as you are so kind--" she drew from her bosom a crumpledtelegram, and handed it to the doctor. "Mine came at the same time ashers, " she said, simply. 

The doctor unfolded the War Office message. 

 Regret to report Sergeant O'Mara killed in assault on Targai yesterday. 

"He was a good husband, " said Margaret O'Mara, simply; "and we were veryhappy. "

The doctor held out his hand. "I am proud to have met you, Mrs. O'Mara. This seems to me the bravest thing I have ever known a woman do. "

She smiled through her tears. "Thank you, sir, " she said, tremulously. "But it is easier to bear my own sorrow, when I have work to do forher. "

"God Himself comfort you, my friend, " said Deryck Brand, and it was allhe could trust his voice to say; nor was he ashamed that he had to fumbleblindly for the handle of the door. 

 * * * * *

The doctor had finished breakfast, and was asking Groatley for atime-table, when word reached him that Lady Ingleby was awake. He wentupstairs immediately. 

Myra was sitting up in bed, propped with pillows. Her cheeks wereflushed; her eyes bright and hard. 

She held out her hand to the doctor. 

"How good you have been, " she said, speaking very fast, in a highunnatural voice: "I am afraid I have given you a great deal of trouble. Idon't remember much about last night, excepting that they said Michaelhad been killed. Has Michael really been killed, do you think? And willthey give me details? Surely I have a right to know details. Nothing canalter the fact that I was Michael's wife, can it? Do go to breakfast, Maggie. There is nothing gained by standing there, smiling, and sayingyou do not want any breakfast. Everybody wants breakfast at nine o'clockin the morning. I should want breakfast, if Michael had not been killed. Tell her she ought to have breakfast, Sir Deryck. I believe she has beenup all night. It is such a comfort to have her. She is so brave andbright; and so full of sympathy. "

"She is very brave, " said the doctor; "and you are right as to her needof breakfast. Go down-stairs for a little while, Mrs. O'Mara. I will staywith Lady Ingleby. "

She moved obediently to the door; but Sir Deryck reached it before her. And the famous London specialist held the door open for the sergeant'syoung widow, with an air of deference such as he would hardly havebestowed upon a queen. 

Then he came back to Lady Ingleby. His train left in three-quarters of anhour. But his task here was not finished. She had slept; but before hedare leave her, she must weep. 

"Where is Peter?" inquired the excited voice from the bed. "He alwaysbarks to be let out, in the morning; but I have heard nothing of himyet. "

"He was exhausted last night, poor little chap, " said the doctor. "Hecould scarcely walk. I carried him up, myself; and put him on the bed inthe next room. The coat was still there, I wrapped him in it. He lickedmy hand, and lay down, content. "

"I want to see him, " said Lady Ingleby. "Michael loved him. He seems allI have left of Michael. "

"I will fetch him, " said the doctor. 

He went into the adjoining room, leaving the door ajar. Myra heard himreach the bed. Then followed a long silence. 

"What is it?" she called at last. "Is he not there? Why are you solong?"

Then the doctor came back. He carried something in his arms, wrapped inthe old shooting jacket. 

"Dear Lady Ingleby, " he said, "little Peter is dead. He must have diedduring the night, in his sleep. He was lying just as I left him, curledup in the coat; but he is quite cold and stiff. Faithful little heart!"said the doctor, with emotion, holding his burden, tenderly. 

"What!" cried Myra, with both arms outstretched. "Peter has died, becauseMichael is dead; and I--I have not even shed a tear!" She fell back amongthe pillows in a paroxysm of weeping. 

The doctor stood by, silently; uncertain what to do. Myra's sobs grewmore violent, shaking the bed with their convulsive force. Then she beganto shriek inarticulately about Michael and Peter, and to sob again, withrenewed violence. 

At that moment the doctor heard the horn of a motor-car in the avenue;then, almost immediately, the clang of the bell, and the sounds of anarrival below. A look of immense relief came into his face. He went tothe top of the great staircase, and looked over. 

The Honourable Mrs. Dalmain had arrived. The doctor saw her tall figure, in a dark green travelling coat, walk rapidly across the hall. 

"Jane!" he said. "Jeanette! Ah, I knew you would not fail us! Comestraight up. You have arrived at the right moment. "

Jane looked up, and saw the doctor standing at the top of the stairs;something wrapped in an old coat, held carefully in his arms. She threwhim one smile of greeting and assurance; then, wasting no time in words, rapidly pulled off her coat, hat, and fur gloves, flinging them in quicksuccession to the astonished butler. The doctor only waited to see heractually mounting the stairs. Then, passing through Lady Ingleby's room, he laid Peter's little body back on his dead master's bed, still wrappedin the old tweed coat. 

As he stepped back into Lady Ingleby's room, closing the door between, hesaw Jane Dalmain kneel down beside the bed, and gather the weeping forminto her arms, with a gesture of immense protective tenderness. 

"Oh Jane, " sobbed Lady Ingleby, as she hid her face in the sweet comfortof that generous bosom; "Oh Jane! Michael has been killed! And littlePeter died, because Michael was dead. Little Peter _died_, and _I_ hadnot even shed a tear!"

The doctor passed quickly out, closing the door behind him. He did notwait to hear the answer. He knew it would be wise, and kind, and right. He left his patient in safe hands. Jane was there, at last. All would bewell. 

CHAPTER V

LADY INGLEBY'S REST-CURE

From the moment when the express for Cornwall had slowly but irrevocablycommenced to glide away from the Paddington platform; when she had lookedher last upon Margaret O'Mara's anxious devoted face, softly framed inher simple widow's bonnet; when she had realised that her somewhatoriginal rest-cure had really safely commenced, and that she was leaving, not only her worries, but her very identity behind her--Lady Ingleby hadleaned back with closed eyes in a corner of her reserved compartment, andgiven herself up to quiet retrospection. 

The face, in repose, was sad--a quiet sadness, as of regret which held nobitterness. The cheek, upon which the dark fringe of lashes rested, waswhite and thin having lost the tint and contour of perfect health. But, every now and then, during those hours of retrospection, the wistfuldroop of the sweet expressive mouth curved into a smile, and a dimplepeeped out unexpectedly, giving a look of youthfulness to the tiredface. 

When London and, its suburbs were completely left behind, and the summersunshine blazed through the window from the clear blue of a radiant Junesky, Lady Ingleby leaned forward, watching the rapid unfolding of countrylanes and hedges; wide commons, golden with gorse; fir woods, carpetedwith blue-bells; mossy banks, overhung with wild roses, honeysuckle, andtraveller's-joy; the indescribable greenness and soft fragrance ofEngland in early summer; and, as she watched, a responsive light shone inher sweet grey eyes. The drear sadness of autumn, the deadness of winter, the chill uncertainty of spring--all these were over and gone. "Flowersappear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, " murmursthe lover of Canticles; and in Myra Ingleby's sad heart there blossomedtimidly, flowers of hope; vague promise of future joy, which life mightyet hold in store. A blackbird in the hawthorn, trilled gaily; and Myrasoftly sang, to an air of Garth Dalmain's, the "Blackbird's Song. "

 "Wake, wake, Sad heart! Rise up, and sing! On God's fair earth, 'mid blossoms blue. Fresh hope must ever spring. There is no room for sad despair, When heaven's love is everywhere. "

Then, as the train sped onward through Wiltshire, Somerset, and Devon, Lady Ingleby felt the mantle of her despondence slipping from her, andreviewed the past, much as a prisoner might glance back into his darknarrow cell, from the sunlight of the open door, as he stood at last onthe threshold of liberty. 

Seven months had gone by since, on that chill November evening, the newsof Lord Ingleby's death had reached Shenstone. The happenings of theweeks which followed, now seemed vague and dreamlike to Myra, just a fewevents standing out clearly from the dim blur of misery. She rememberedthe reliable strength of the doctor; the unselfish devotion of MargaretO'Mara; the unspeakable comfort of Jane's wholesome understandingtenderness. Then the dreaded arrival of her mother; followed, immediately, according to promise, by the protective advent of Georgina, Duchess of Meldrum; after which, tragedy and comedy walked hand in hand;and the silence of mourning was enlivened by the "Hoity-toity!" of theduchess, and the indignant sniffs of Mrs. Coller-Cray. 

Later on, details of Lord Ingleby's death came to hand, and his widow hadto learn that he had fallen--at the attempt upon Targai, it is true--butthe victim of an accident; losing his life, not at the hands of thesavage enemy, but through the unfortunate blunder of a comrade. Myranever very clearly grasped the details:--a wall to be undermined; his ownpatent and fearful explosive; the grim enthusiasm with which he insistedupon placing it himself, arranging to have it fired by his patentelectrical plan. Then the mistaking of a signal; the fatal pressing of abutton five minutes too soon; an electric flash in the mine, a terrificexplosion, and instant death to the man whose skill and courage had madethe gap through which crowds of cheering British soldiers, bursting fromthe silent darkness, dashed to expectant victory. 

When full details reached the War Office, a Very Great Personage calledat her house in Park Lane personally to explain to Lady Ingleby thenecessity for the hushing up of some of these greatly-to-be-deploredfacts. The whole unfortunate occurrence had largely partaken of thenature of an experiment. The explosive, the new method of signalling, theportable electric plant--all these were being used by Lord Ingleby andthe young officers who assisted him, more or less experimentally andunofficially. The man whose unfortunate mistake caused the accident hadan important career before him. His name must not be allowed totranspire. It would be unfair that a future of great promise should beblighted by what was an obvious accident. The few to whom the name wasknown had been immediately pledged to secrecy. Of course it would beconfidentially given to Lady Ingleby if she really desired to hear it, but----

Then Myra took a very characteristic line. She sat up with instantdecision; her pale face flushed, and her large pathetic grey eyes shonewith sudden brightness. 

"Pardon me, sir, " she said, "for interposing; but I never wish to knowthat name. My husband would have been the first to desire that it shouldnot be told. And, personally, I should be sorry that there should be anyman on earth whose hand I could not bring myself to touch in friendship. The hand that widowed me, did so without intention. Let it remain alwaysto me an abstract instrument of the will of Providence. I shall nevereven try to guess to which of Michael's comrades that hand belonged. "

Lady Ingleby was honest in making this decision; and the Very GreatPersonage stepped into his brougham, five minutes later, greatlyrelieved, and filled with admiration for Lord Ingleby's beautiful andright-minded widow. She had always been all that was most charming. Nowshe added sound good sense, to personal charm. Excellent! Incomparable!Poor Ingleby! Poor--Ah! _he_ must not be mentioned, even in thought. 

Yes; Lady Ingleby was absolutely honest in coming to her decision. Andyet, from that moment, two names revolved perpetually in her mind, arounda ceaseless question--the only men mentioned constantly by Michael in hisletters as being always with him in his experiments, sharing hisinterests and his dangers: Ronald Ingram, and Billy Cathcart--dear boys, both; her devoted adorers; almost her dearest, closest friends; faithful, trusted, tried. And now the haunting question circled around all thoughtof them: "Was it Ronald? Or was it Billy? Which? Billy or Ronnie? Ronnieor Billy?" Myra had said: "I shall never even try to guess, " and she hadsaid it honestly. She did not try to guess. She guessed, in spite oftrying not to do so; and the certainty, and yet _un_certainty of hersurmisings told on her nerves, becoming a cause of mental torment whichwas with her, subconsciously, night and day. 

Time went on. The frontier war was over. England, as ever, had been boundto win in the end; and England had won. It had merely been a case oftime; of learning wisdom by a series of initial mistakes; of expending alarge amount of British gold and British blood. England's supremacy wassatisfactorily asserted; and, those of her brave troops who had survivedthe initial mistakes, came home; among them Ronald Ingram and BillyCathcart; the former obviously older than when he went away, gaunt andworn, pale beneath his bronze, showing unmistakable signs of the effectsof a severe wound and subsequent fever. "Too interesting for words, " saidthe Duchess of Meldrum to Lady Ingleby, recounting her first sight ofhim. "If only I were fifty years younger than I am, I would marry thedear boy immediately, take him down to Overdene, and nurse him back tohealth and strength. Oh, you need not look incredulous, my dear Myra! Ialways mean what I say, as you very well know. "

But Lady Ingleby denied all suspicion of incredulity, and merelysuggested languidly, that--bar the matrimonial suggestion--the programmewas an excellent one, and might well be carried out. Young Ronald beingof the same opinion, he was soon installed at Overdene, and had what heafterwards described as _the_ time of his life, being pampered, spoiled, and petted by the dear old duchess, and never allowing her to suspectthat one of the chief attractions of Overdene lay in the fact that it waswithin easy motoring distance of Shenstone Park. 

Billy returned as young, as inconsequent, as irrepressible as ever. Andyet in him also, Myra was conscious of a subtle change, for which she, all too readily, found a reason, far removed from the real one. 

The fact was this. Both young men, in their romantic devotion to her, hadyet been true to their own manhood, and loyal, at heart, to Lord Ingleby. But their loyalty had always been with effort. Therefore, when--thestrain relaxed--they met her again, they were intensely conscious of herfreedom and of their own resultant liberty. This produced in them, whenwith her, a restraint and shyness which Myra naturally construed into aconfirmation of her own suspicions. She, having never found it thesmallest effort to remember she was Michael's, and to be faithful inevery thought to him, was quite unconscious of her liberty. There havingbeen no strain in remaining true to the instincts of her own pure, honest, honourable nature, there was no tension to relax. 

So it very naturally came to pass that when one day Ronald Ingram had satlong with her, silently studying his boots, his strong face tense andmiserable, every now and then looking furtively at her, then, as his eyesmet the calm friendliness of hers, dropping them again to thefloor:--"Poor Ronnie, " she mused, "with his 'important career' beforehim. Undoubtedly it was he who did it. And Billy knows it. See howfidgety Billy is, while Ronnie sits with me. "

But by-and-by it would be: "No; of course it was Billy--dear hot-headedimpulsive young Billy; and Ronald, knowing it, feels guilty also. Poorlittle Billy, who was as a son to Michael! There was no mistaking theemotion in his face just now, when I merely laid my hand on his. Oh, impetuous scatter-brained boy!. .. Dear heavens! I wish he wouldn't handme the bread-and-butter. "

Then, into this atmosphere of misunderstanding and uncertainty, intrudeda fresh element. A first-cousin of Lord Ingleby's, to whom had come thetitle, minus the estates, came to the conclusion that title and estatesmight as well go together. To that end, intruding upon her privacy onevery possible occasion, he proceeded to pay business-like court to LadyIngleby. 

Thus rudely Myra awoke to the understanding of her liberty. At once, herwhole outlook on life was changed. All things bore a new significance. Ronnie and Billy ceased to be comforts. Ronnie's nervous misery assumed anew importance; and, coupled with her own suspicions, filled her with adismayed horror. The duchess's veiled jokes took point, and hurt. A senseof unprotected loneliness engulfed her. Every man became a prospectiveand dreaded suitor; every woman's remarks seemed to hold an innuendo. Hername in the papers distracted her. 

She recognised the morbidness of her condition, even while she feltunable to cope with it; and, leaving Shenstone suddenly, came up to town, and consulted Sir Deryck Brand. 

"Oh, my friend, " she said, "help me! I shall never face life again. "

The doctor heard her patiently, aiding the recital by his strongunderstanding silence. 

Then he said, quietly: "Dear lady, the diagnosis is not difficult. Alsothere is but one possible remedy. " He paused. 

Lady Ingleby's imploring eyes and tense expectancy, besought hisverdict. 

"A rest-cure, " said the doctor, with finality. 

"Horrors, no!" cried Myra; "Would you shut me up within four walls; cramme with rice pudding and every form of food I most detest; send adreadful woman to pound, roll, and pommel me, and tell me gruesomestories; keep out all my friends, all letters, all books, all news; and, after six weeks send me out into the world again, with my figure gone, and not a sane thought upon any subject under the sun? Dear doctor, thinkof it! Stout, and an idiot! Oh, give me something in a bottle, to shake, and take three times a day--and let me go!"

The doctor smiled. He was famed for his calm patience. 

"Your somewhat highly coloured description, dear Lady Ingleby, applies toa form of rest-cure such as I rarely, if ever, recommend. In your case itwould be worse than useless. We should gain nothing by shutting you upwith the one person who is doing you harm, and from whom we must contriveyour escape. "

"The one person--?" queried Myra, wide-eyed. 

"A charming person, " smiled the doctor, "where the rest of mankind areconcerned; but very bad for you just now. "

"But--whom?" questioned Myra, again. "Whom can you mean?"

"I mean Lady Ingleby, " replied the doctor, gravely. "When I send you awayfor your rest-cure, Lady Ingleby with her worries and questionings, doubts and fears, must be left behind. I shall send you to a littleout-of-the-world village on the wild sea coast of Cornwall, where youknow nobody, and nobody knows you. You must go incognito, as 'Miss' or'Mrs. '--anything you please. Your rest-cure will consist primarily inbeing set free, for a time, from Lady Ingleby's position, predicament, and perplexities. You must send word to all intimate friends, tellingthem you are going into retreat, and they must not write until they hearagain. You will have leave to write one letter a week, to one persononly; and that person must be one of whom I can approve. You must eatplenty of wholesome food; roam about all day long in the open-air; riseearly, retire early; live entirely in a simple, beautiful, wholesomepresent, firmly avoiding all remembrance of a sad past, and allanticipation of an uncertain future. Nobody is to know where you are, excepting myself, and the one friend to whom you may write. But we willarrange that somebody--say, for instance, your devoted attendant from theLodge, shall hold herself free to come to you at an hour's notice, shouldyou be overwhelmed with a sudden sense of loneliness. The knowledge ofthis, will probably keep the need from arising. You can communicate withme daily if you like, by letter or by telegram; but other people must notknow where you are. I do not wish you followed by the anxious or restlessthoughts of many minds. To-morrow I will give you the name of a place Irecommend, and of a comfortable hotel where you can order rooms. It mustbe a place you have never seen, probably one of which you have neverheard. We are nearing the end of May. I should like you to start on thefirst of June. If you want a house-party at Shenstone this summer, youmay invite your guests for the first of July. Lady Ingleby will be athome again by then, fully able to maintain her reputation as a hostess ofunequalled charm, graciousness, and popularity. Morbid self-consciousnessis a condition of mind from which you have hitherto been so completelyfree, that this unexpected attack has altogether unnerved you, andrequires prompt and uncompromising measures. .. . Yes, Jane Dalmain may beyour correspondent. You could not have chosen better. "

This was the doctor's verdict and prescription; and, as his patientsnever disputed the one, or declined to take the other, Myra foundherself, on "the glorious first of June" flying south in the GreatWestern express, bound for the little fishing village of Tregarth whereshe had ordered rooms at the Moorhead Inn, in the name of Mrs. O'Mara. 

CHAPTER VI

AT THE MOORHEAD INN

The ruddy glow of a crimson sunset illumined cliff and hamlet, tintingthe distant ocean into every shade of golden glory, as Myra walked up thegravelled path to the rustic porch of the Moorhead Inn, and looked aroundher with a growing sense of excited refreshment. 

She had come on foot from the little wayside station, her luggagefollowing in a barrow; and this mode of progression, minus a footman andmaid, and carrying her own cloak, umbrella, and travelling-bag, was initself a charming novelty. 

At the door, she was received by the proprietress, a stately lady inblack satin, wearing a double row of large jet beads, who reminded herinstantly of all Lord Ingleby's maiden aunts. She seemed an accentuated, dignified, concentrated embodiment of them all; and Myra longed forBilly, to share the joke. 

"Aunt Ingleby" requested Mrs. O'Mara to walk in, and hoped she had had apleasant journey. Then she rang a very loud bell twice, in order tosummon a maid to show her to her room; and, the maid not appearing atonce, requested Mrs. O'Mara meanwhile to write her name in the visitors'book. 

Lady Ingleby walked into the hall, passing a smoking-room on the left, and, noting a door, with "Coffee Room" upon it in gold lettering, down ashort passage immediately opposite. Up from the centre of the hall, onher right, went the rather wide old-fashioned staircase; and opposite toit, against the wall, between the smoking-room and a door labelled"Reception Room, " stood a marble-topped table. Lying open upon this tablewas a ponderous visitors' book. A fresh page had been recently commenced, as yet only containing four names. The first three were dated May the8th, and read, in crabbed precise writing:

 Miss Amelia Murgatroyd, Miss Eliza Murgatroyd, Miss Susannah Murgatroyd . .. .. Lawn View, Putney. 

Below these, bearing date a week later, in small precise writing ofunmistakable character and clearness, the name:

 Jim Airth . .. .. London. 

Pen and ink lay ready, and, without troubling to remove her glove, LadyIngleby wrote beneath, in large, somewhat sprawling, handwriting:

 Mrs. O'Mara . .. .. The Lodge, Shenstone. 

A maid appeared, took her cloak and bag, and preceded her up the stairs. 

As she reached the turn of the staircase, Lady Ingleby paused, and lookedback into the hall. 

The door of the smoking-room opened, and a very tall man came out, takinga pipe from the pocket of his loose Norfolk jacket. As he strolled intothe hall, his face reminded her of Ronnie's, deep-bronzed and thin; onlyit was an older face--strong, rugged, purposeful. The heavy brownmoustache could not hide the massive cut of chin and jaw. 

Catching sight of a fresh name in the book, he paused; then laying onelarge hand upon the table, bent over and read it. 

Myra stood still and watched, noting the broad shoulders, and the immenselength of limb in the leather leggings. 

He appeared to study the open page longer than was necessary for the merereading of the name. Then, without looking round, reached up, took a capfrom the antler of a stag's head high up on the wall, stuck it on theback of his head; swung round, and went out through the porch, whistlinglike a blackbird. 

"Jim Airth, " said Myra to herself, as she moved slowly on; "Jim Airth of_London_. What an address! He might just as well have put: 'of theworld!' A cross between a guardsman and a cowboy; and very likely he willturn out to be a commercial-traveller. " Then, as she reached the landingand came in sight of the rosy-cheeked maid, holding open the door of alarge airy bedroom, she added with a whimsical smile: "All the same, Iwish I had taken the trouble to write more neatly. "

CHAPTER VII

MRS. O'MARA'S CORRESPONDENCE

_Letter from Lady Ingleby to the Honourable Mrs. Dalmain. _

 The Moorhead Inn, Tregarth, Cornwall. 

MY DEAR JANE, Having been here a week, I think it is time I commenced my first letterto you. 

How does it feel to be a person considered pre-eminently suitable tominister to a mind diseased? Doesn't it give you a sense of being, as itwere, rice pudding, or Brand's essence, or Maltine; something essentiallysafe and wholesome? You should have heard how Sir Deryck jumped at you, as soon as your name was mentioned, tentatively, as my possiblecorrespondent. I had barely whispered it, when he leapt, and clinched thematter. I believe "wholesome" was an adjective mentioned. I hope you donot mind, dear Jane. I must confess, I would sooner be macaroons oroyster-patties, even at the risk of giving my friends occasionalindigestion. But then I have never gone in for the rôle of being helpful, in which you excel. Not that it is a "rôle" with you, dear Jane. Rather, it is an essential characteristic. You walk in, and find a hopelesstangle; gather up the threads in those firm capable hands; deftly sortand hold them; and, lo, the tangle is over; the skein of life is oncemore ready for winding!

Well, there is not much tangle about me just now, thanks to our deardoctor's most excellent prescription. It was a veritable stroke ofgenius, this setting me free from myself. From the first day, the senseof emancipation was indescribable. I enjoy being addressed as "Ma'am"; Irevel in being without a maid, though it takes me ages to do my hair, andI have serious thoughts of wearing it in pigtails down my back! When Iremember the poor, harassed, exhausted, society-self I left behind, Ifeel like buying a wooden spade and bucket and starting out, all bymyself, to build sand-castles on this delightful shore. I have no one toplay with, for I am certain the Miss Murgatroyds--I am going to tell youof them--never made sand-castles; no, not even in their infancy, acentury ago! They must always have been the sort of children who worewhite frilled bloomers, poplin frocks, and large leghorn hats withribbons tied beneath their excellent little chins, and walked demurelywith their governess--looking shocked at other infants who whooped andran. I feel inclined to whoop and run, now; and the Miss Murgatroyds arequite prepared to look shocked. 

But oh, the freedom of being nobody, and of having nothing to think of ordo! And everything I see and hear gives me joy; a lark rising from theturf, and carolling its little self up into the blue; the great Atlanticbreakers, pounding upon the shore; the fisher-folk, standing at the doorsof their picturesque thatched cottages. All things seem alive, with anexuberance of living, to which I have long been a stranger. 

Do you know this coast, with its high moorland, its splendid cliffs; and, far below, its sand coves, and ever-moving, rolling, surging, deep greensea? Wonderful! Beautiful! Infinite!

My Inn is charming; primitive, yet comfortable. We have excellent coffee, fried fish in perfection; real nursery toast, farm butter, and home-madebread. When you supplement these with marmalade and mulberry jam, otherthings all cease to be necessities. 

Stray travellers come and go in motors, merely lunching, or putting upfor one night; but there are only four other permanent guests. These allfurnish me with unceasing interest and amusement. The three MissMurgatroyds--oh, Jane, they are so antediluvian and quaint! Three ancientsisters, --by name, Amelia, Eliza, and Susannah. Their villa at Putneyrejoices in the name of "Lawn View"; so characteristic and suitable;because no view reaching beyond the limits of their own front lawnappears to these dear ladies to be worthy of regard. They never goabroad, "excepting to the Isle of Wight, " because they "do not likeforeigners. " A party of quite charming Americans arrived just beforedinner the other day, in an automobile, and kept us lively during theirflying visit. They were cordial over the consommé; friendly over thefish; and quite confidential by the time we reached the third course. But, alas, these delightful cousins from the other side, were considered"foreigners" by the Miss Murgatroyds, who consequently encased themselvesin the frigid armour of their own self-conscious primness; and passed themustard, without a smile. I felt constrained, afterwards, to apologisefor my country-women; but the Americans, overflowing with appreciativegood-nature, explained that they had come over expressly in order to seeold British relics of every kind. They asked me whether I did not thinkthe Miss Murgatroyds might have stepped "right out of Dickens. " I wasfairly nonplussed, because I thought they were going to say "out of theark"--you know how one mentally finishes a sentence as soon as it isbegun?--and I simply dared not confess that I have not read Dickens!Alas, how ignorant of our own standard literature we are apt to feel whenwe talk with Americans, and find it completely a part of their everydaylife. 

But I must tell you more about the Miss Murgatroyds--Amelia, Eliza, andSusannah. When quite at peace among themselves, which is not often, theyare Milly, Lizzie, and Susie; but a little rift within the lute is markedby the immediate use of their full baptismal names. Poor Susannah beingthe youngest--the youthful side of sixty--and inclined to be kittenishand giddy, is very rarely "Susie. " Miss Murgatroyd--Amelia--is stern andunbending. She wears a cameo brooch the size of a tablespoon, and laysdown the law in precise and elegant English, even when asking Susie topass the crumpets. Miss Eliza, the second sister, is meek andunoffending. Her attitude toward Miss Amelia is one of perpetual apology. She addresses Susie as "my dear love, " excepting on occasions whenSusie's behaviour has put her quite outside the pale. Then she calls her, "my _dear_ Susannah!" and sighs. I am inclined to think Miss Elizasuffers from a demonstrative nature, which has never had an outlet. 

But Susie is the lively one. Susie would be a flirt, if she dared, and ifany man were bold enough to flirt with her under Miss Amelia's eye. Susieis barely fifty-five, and her elder sisters regard her as a mere child, and are very ready with reproof and correction. Susie has a pink andwhite complexion, a soft fat little face, and plump dimpled hands; andSusie is given to vanity. Jim Airth held open the door of the coffee-roomfor her one day, and Susie--I should say Susannah--has been in a flutterever since. Poor naughty Susie! Miss Murgatroyd has changed her place atmeals--they have a table in the centre of the room--and made her sit withher back to Jim Airth; who has a round table, all to himself, in thewindow. 

Now I must tell you about Jim Airth, and of a curious coincidenceconnected with him, which you must not repeat to the doctor, for fear heshould move me on. 

Let me confess at once, that I am extremely interested in Jim Airth--andit is sweet and generous of me to admit it, for Jim Airth is not in theleast interested in me! He rarely vouchsafes me a word or a glance. He isa bear, and a savage; but such a fine good-looking bear; and such asplendid and interesting savage! He is quite the tallest man I ever saw;with immense limbs, lean and big-boned; yet moves with the supple graceof an Indian. He was through that campaign last year, and had a terribleturn of sunstroke and fever, during which his head was shaved. Consequently his thick brown hair is now at the stage of standingstraight up all over it like a bottle-brush. I know Susie longs to smoothit down; but that would be a task beyond Susie's utmost efforts. Hisbrows are very stern and level; and his eyes, deep-set beneath them, ofthat gentian blue which makes one think of Alpine heights. They can flashand gleam, on occasions, and sometimes look almost purple. He wears aheavy brown moustache, and his jaw and chin are terrifying in theirmasterful strength. Yet he smokes an old briar pipe; whistles like ablackbird; and derives immense amusement from playing up to naughtySusie's coyness, when the cameo brooch is turned another way. I have seenhis eyes twinkle with fun when Miss Susannah has purposely let fall herhandkerchief, and he has reached out a long arm, picked it up, andrestored it. Whereupon Susie has hastened out, in the wake of hersisters, in a blushing flutter; Miss Eliza turning to whisper: "Oh, mydear love! Oh Susannah!" I try, when these things happen, to catch JimAirth's merry eye, and share the humour of the situation; but he stolidlysees the wall through me on all occasions, and would tread heavily on_my_ poor handkerchief, if I took to dropping it. Miss Murgatroyd tellsme that he is a confirmed hater of feminine beauty; upon which poor MissSusannah takes a surreptitious prink into the gold-framed mirror over thereception-room mantelpiece, and says, plaintively: "Oh, do not say that, Amelia!" But Amelia _does_ say "that"; and a good deal more!

When first I saw Jim Airth, I thought him a cross between a cowboy and aguardsman; and I think so still. But what do you suppose he turns out tobe, beside? An author! And, stranger still, he is writing an importantbook called _Modern Warfare; its Methods and Requirements_, in which heis explaining and working out many of Michael's ideas and experiments. Hewas right through that border war, and took part in the assault onTargai. He must have known Michael, intimately. 

All this information I have from Miss Murgatroyd. I sometimes sit withthem in the reception-room after dinner, where they wind wool andknit--endless winding; perpetual knitting! At five minutes to ten, MissMurgatroyd says; "Now, my dear Eliza. Now, Susannah, " which is the signalfor bestowing all their goods and chattels into black satin work-bags. Then, at ten o'clock precisely, Miss Murgatroyd rises, and theyprocession up to bed--ah, no! I beg their pardons. The Miss Murgatroydsnever "go to bed. " They all "retire to rest. "

Jim Airth and his doings form a favourite topic of conversation. Theyspeak of him as "Mr. Airth, " which sounds so funny. He is not the sort ofperson one ever could call "Mister. " To me, he has been "Jim Airth, " eversince I saw his name, in small neat writing, in the visitors' book. I hadto put mine just beneath it, and of course I wrote "Mrs. O'Mara"; then, as an address seemed expected, added: "The Lodge, Shenstone. " Just afterI had written this, Jim Airth came into the hall, and stood quite stillstudying it. I saw him, from half-way up the stairs. At first I thoughthe was marvelling at my shocking handwriting; but now I believe the name"Shenstone" caught his eye. No doubt he knew it to be Michael'sfamily-seat. 

Do you know, it was so strange, the other night, Miss Murgatroyd heldforth in the reception-room about Michael's death. She explained that hewas "the first to dash into the breach, " and "fell with his face to thefoe. " She also added that she used to know "poor dear Lady Ingleby, "intimately. This was interesting, and seemed worthy of further inquiry. It turned out that she is a distant cousin of a weird old person who usedto call every year on mamma, for a subscription to some society forpromoting thrift among the inhabitants of the South Sea Islands. Dearmamma used annually to jump upon this courageous old party and flattenher out; and listening to the process was, to us, a fearful joy; butannually she returned to the charge. On one of these occasions, justbefore my marriage, Miss Murgatroyd accompanied her. Hence her intimateknowledge of "poor dear Lady Ingleby. " Also she has a friend who, quiterecently, saw Lady Ingleby driving in the Park; "and, poor thing, she hadsadly gone off in looks. " I felt inclined to prink in the golden mirror, after the manner of Susie, and exclaim: "Oh, do not say that, Amelia!"

Isn't it queer the way in which such people as these worthy ladies, yearnto be able to say they know us; for really, when all is said and done, we are not very much worth knowing? I would rather know a cosmopolitancowboy, such as Jim Airth, than half the titled folk on my visiting-list. 

But really, Jane, I must not mention him again, or you will think I aminfected with Susie's flutter. Not so, my dear! He has shown me no littlecourtesies; given few signs of being conscious of my presence; barelyreturned my morning greeting, though my lonely table is just oppositehis, in the large bay-window. 

But in this new phase of life, everything seems of absorbing interest, and the individuality of the few people I see, takes on an exaggeratedimportance. (Really that sentence might almost be Sir Deryck's!) Also, Ireally believe Jim Airth's peculiar fascination consists in the fact thatI am conscious of his disapproval. If he thinks of me at all, it is notwith admiration, nor even with liking. And this is a novel experience;for I have been spoilt by perpetual approval, and satiated by senselessand unmerited adulation. 

Oh Jane! As I walk along these cliffs, and hear the Atlantic breakerspounding against their base, far down below; as I watch the sea-gullscircling around on their strong white wings; as I realise the strength, the force, the liberty, in nature; the growth and progress whichaccompanies life; I feel I have never really lived. Nothing has ever felt_strong_, either beneath me, or around me, or against me. Had I once beenmastered, and held, and made to do as another willed, I should have feltlove was a reality, and life would have become worth living. But I havejust dawdled through the years, doing exactly as I pleased; makingmistakes, and nobody troubling to set me right; failing, and nobodydisappointed that I had not succeeded. 

I realise now, that there is a key to life, and a key to love, which hasnever been placed in my hands. What it is, I know not. But if I everlearn, it will be from just such a man as Jim Airth. I have never reallytalked with him, yet I am so conscious of his strength and virility, thathe stands to me, in the abstract, for all that is strongest in manhood, and most vital in life. 

Much of the benefit of my time here, quite unconsciously to himself, comes to me from him. When he walks into the house, whistling like ablackbird; when he hangs up his cap on an antler a foot or two higherthan other people could reach; when he ploughs unhesitatingly through hismeals, with a book or a paper stuck up in front of him; when he dumps hisbig boots out into the passage, long after the quiet house has hushedinto repose, and I smile, in the darkness, at the thought of how thesound will have annoyed Miss Murgatroyd, startled Miss Eliza, and madenaughty Miss Susannah's heart flutter;--when all these things happenevery day, I am conscious that a clearer understanding of the past, a newstrength for the future, and a fresh outlook on life, come to me, simplyfrom the fact that he is himself, and that he is here. Jim Airth may notbe a saint; but he is a _man!_

Dear Jane, I should scarcely venture to send you this epistle, were itnot for all the adjectives--"wholesome, " "helpful, " "understanding, "etc. , which so rightly apply to you. _You_ will not misunderstand. Ofthat I have no fear. But do not tell the doctor more than that I am verywell, in excellent spirits, and happier than I have ever been in mylife. 

Tell Garth I loved his last song. How often I sing to myself, as I walkin the sea breeze and sunshine, the hairbells waving round my feet:

 "On God's fair earth, 'mid blossoms blue, Fresh hope must ever spring. "

I trust I sing it in tune; but I know I have not much ear. 

And how is your little Geoffrey? Has he the beautiful shining eyes, weall remember? I have often laughed over your account of his sojourn atOverdene, and of how our dear naughty old duchess stirred him up to rebelagainst his nurse. You must have had your hands full when you and Garthreturned from America. Oh, Jane, how different my life would have been ifI had had a little son! Ah, well!

 "There is no room for sad despair, When heaven's love is everywhere. "

Tell Garth, I love it; but I wish he wrote simpler accompaniments. Thatone beats me!

 Yours, dear Jane, Gratefully and affectionately, MYRA INGLEBY. 

 --------------------

_Letter from the Honourable Mrs. Dalmain to Lady Ingleby. _

 CASTLE GLENEESH, N. B. 

MY DEAR MYRA, No, I have not the smallest objection to representing rice pudding, oranything else plain and wholesome, providing I agree with you, andsuffice for the need of the moment. 

I am indeed glad to have so good a report. It proves Deryck right in hisdiagnosis and prescription. Keep to the latter faithfully, in everydetail. 

I am much interested in your account of your fellow-guests at theMoorhead Inn. No, I do not misunderstand your letter; nor do I credit youwith any foolish sentimentality, or Susie-like flutterings. Jim Airthstands to you for an abstract thing--uncompromising manhood, in itsstrength and assurance; very attractive after the loneliness and sense ofbeing cut adrift, which have been your portion lately. Only, remember--where living men and women are concerned, the safely abstractis apt suddenly to become the perilously personal; and your futurehappiness may be seriously involved, before you realise the danger. Iconfess, I fail to understand the man's avoidance of you. He sounds thesort of fellow who would be friendly and pleasant toward all women, andpassionately loyal to one. Perhaps you, with your sweet loveliness--afact, my dear, notwithstanding the observations in the Park, of MissAmelia's crony!--may remind him of some long-closed page of past history, and he may shrink from the pain of a consequent turning of memory'sleaves. No doubt Miss Susannah recalls some nice old maiden-aunt, and hecan afford to respond to her blandishments. 

What you say of the way in which Americans know our standard authors, reminds me of a fellow-passenger on board the _Baltic_, on our outwardvoyage--a charming woman, from Hartford, Connecticut, who sat beside usat meals. She had been spending five months in Europe, travellingincessantly, and finished up with London--her first visit to ourcapital--expecting to be altogether too tired to enjoy it; but found it aplace of such abounding interest and delight, that life went on withfresh zest, and fatigue was forgotten. "Every street, " she explained, "isso familiar. We have never seen them before, and yet they are morefamiliar than the streets of our native cities. It is the London ofDickens and of Thackeray. We know it all. We recognise the streets as wecome to them. The places are homelike to us. _We have known them all ourlives. _" I enjoyed this tribute to our English literature. But I wonder, my dear Myra, how many streets, east of Temple Bar, in our dear oldLondon, are "homelike" to you!

Garth insists upon sending you at once a selection of his favourites fromamong the works of Dickens. So expect a bulky package before long. Youmight read them aloud to the Miss Murgatroyds, while they knit and windwool. 

Garth thoroughly enjoyed our trip to America. You know why we went? Sincehe lost his sight, all sounds mean so much to him. He is so boyishlyeager to hear all there is to be heard in the world. Any possibility of anew sound-experience fills him with enthusiastic expectation, and away wego! He set his heart upon hearing the thunderous roar of Niagara, so offwe went, by the White Star Line. His enjoyment was complete, when at lasthe stood close to the Horseshoe Fall, on the Canadian side, with his handon the rail at the place where the spray showers over you, and the greatrushing boom seems all around. And as we stood there together, a littlebird on a twig beside us, began to sing!--Garth is putting it all into asymphony. 

How true is what you say of the genial friendliness of Americans! I wasthinking it over, on our homeward voyage. It seems to me, that, as arule, they are so far less self-conscious than we. Their minds are fullyat liberty to go out at once, in keenest appreciation and interest, tomeet a new acquaintance. Our senseless British greeting: "How do youdo?"--that everlasting question, which neither expects nor awaits ananswer, _can_ only lead to trite remarks about the weather; whereasAmerica's "I am happy to meet you, Mrs. Dalmain, " or "I am pleased tomake your acquaintance, Lady Ingleby, " is an open door, through which wepass at once to fuller friendliness. Too often, in the moment ofintroduction, the reserved British nature turns in upon itself, sensitively debating what impression it is making; nervously afraid ofbeing too expansive; fearful of giving itself away. But, as I said, theAmerican mind comes forth to meet us with prompt interest andappreciative expectation; and we make more friends, in that land of readysympathies, in half an hour, than we do in half a year of our own stiffsocial functions. Perhaps you will put me down as biassed in my opinion. Well, they were wondrous good to Garth and me; and we depend so greatlyupon people _saying_ exactly the right thing at the right moment. Whenfriendly looks cannot be seen, tactful words become more than ever anecessity. 

Yes, little Geoff's eyes are bright and shining, and the true goldenbrown. In many other ways he is very like his father. 

Garth sends his love, and promises you a special accompaniment to the"Blackbird's Song, " such as can easily be played with one finger!

It seems so strange to address this envelope to Mrs. O'Mara. It remindsme of a time when I dropped my own identity and used another woman'sname. I only wish your experiment might end as happily as mine. 

Ah, Myra dearest, there is a Best for every life! Sometimes we can onlyreach it by a rocky path or along a thorny way; and those who fear thepain, come to it not at all. But such of us as have attained, can testifythat it is worth while. From all you have told me lately, I gather theBest has not yet come your way. Keep on expecting. Do not be content withless. 

We certainly must not let Deryck know that Jim Airth--what a nicename--was at Targai. He would move you on, promptly. 

Report again next week; and do abide, if necessary, beneath the safechaperonage of the cameo brooch. 

 Yours, in all fidelity, JANE DALMAIN. 

CHAPTER VIII

IN HORSESHOE COVE

Lady Ingleby sat in the honeysuckle arbour, pouring her tea from a littlebrown earthenware teapot, and spreading substantial slices of home-madebread with the creamiest of farm butter, when the aged postman hobbled upto the garden gate of the Moorhead Inn, with a letter for Mrs. O'Mara. 

For a moment she could scarcely bring herself to open an envelope bearinganother name than her own. Then, smiling at her momentary hesitation, shetore it open with the keen delight of one, who, accustomed to a dozenletters a day, has passed a week without receiving any. 

She read Mrs. Dalmain's letter through rapidly; and once she laughedaloud; and once a sudden colour flamed into her cheeks. 

Then she laid it down, and helped herself to honey--real heather-honey, golden in the comb. 

She took up her letter again, and read it carefully, weighing each word. 

Then:--"Good old Jane!" she said; "that is rather neatly put: the 'safelyabstract' becoming the 'perilously personal. ' She has acquired the knackof terse and forceful phraseology from her long friendship with thedoctor. I can do it myself, when I try; only, _my_ Sir Derycky sentencesare apt merely to sound well, and mean nothing at all. And--afterall--_does_ this of Jane's mean anything worthy of consideration? Couldsix foot five of abstraction--eating its breakfast in completeunconsciousness of one's presence, returning one's timid 'good-morning'with perfunctory politeness, and relegating one, while still debating thepossibility of venturing a remark on the weather, to obviousoblivion--ever become perilously personal?"

Lady Ingleby laughed again, returned the letter to its envelope, andproceeded to cut herself a slice of home-made currant cake. As shefinished it, with a final cup of tea, she thought with amusement of thedifference between this substantial meal in the honeysuckle arbour of theold inn garden, and the fashionable teas then going on in crowdeddrawing-rooms in town, where people hurried in, took a tiny roll of thinbread-and-butter, and a sip at luke-warm tea, which had stoodsufficiently long to leave an abiding taste of tannin; heard or imparteda few more or less detrimental facts concerning mutual friends; thenhurried on elsewhere, to a cucumber sandwich, colder tea, which had stoodeven longer, and a fresh instalment of gossip. 

"Oh, why do we do it?" mused Lady Ingleby. Then, taking up her scarletparasol, she crossed the little lawn, and stood at the garden gate, inthe afternoon sunlight, debating in which direction she should go. 

Usually her walks took her along the top of the cliffs, where the larks, springing from the short turf and clumps of waving harebells, sangthemselves up into the sky. She loved being high above the sea, andhearing the distant thunder of the breakers on the rocks below. 

But to-day the steep little street, down through the fishing village, tothe cove, looked inviting. The tide was out, and the sands gleamedgolden. 

Also, from her seat in the arbour, she had seen Jim Airth's tall figurego swinging along the cliff edge, silhouetted against the clear blue ofthe sky. And one sentence in the letter she had just received, made thisinto a factor which turned her feet toward the shore. 

The friendly Cornish folk, sitting on their doorsteps in the sunshine, smiled at the lovely woman in white serge, who passed down their villagestreet, so tall and graceful, beneath the shade of her scarlet parasol. An item in the doctor's prescription had been the discarding of widow'sweeds, and it had seemed quite natural to Myra to come down to her firstCornish breakfast in a cream serge gown. 

Arrived at the shore, she turned in the direction she usually took whenup above, and walked quickly along the firm smooth sand; pausingoccasionally to pick up a beautifully marked stone, or to examine abrilliant sea-anemone or gleaming jelly-fish, left stranded by the tide. 

Presently she reached a place where the cliff jutted out toward the sea;and, climbing over slippery rocks, studded with shining pools in whichcrimson seaweed waved, crabs scudded sideways from her passing shadow, and darting shrimps flicked across and buried themselves hastily in thesand, Myra found herself in a most fascinating cove. The line of cliffhere made a horseshoe, not quite half a mile in length. The little bay, within this curve, was a place of almost fairy-like beauty; the sand asoft glistening white, decked with delicate crimson seaweed. The cliffs, towering up above, gave welcome shadow to the shore; yet the sun behindthem still gleamed and sparkled on the distant sea. 

Myra walked to the centre of the horseshoe; then, picking up a piece ofdriftwood, scooped out a comfortable hollow in the sand, about a dozenyards from the foot of the cliff; stuck her open parasol up behind it, toshield herself from the observation, from above, of any chance passer-by;and, settling comfortably into the soft hollow, lay back, watching, through half-closed lids, the fleeting shadows, the blue sky, the gentlymoving sea. Little white clouds blushed rosy red. An opal tint gleamed onthe water. The moving ripple seemed too far away to break the restfulsilence. 

Lady Ingleby's eyelids drooped lower and lower. 

"Yes, my dear Jane, " she murmured, dreamily watching a snow-white sail, as it rounded the point, curtseyed, and vanished from view; "undoubtedlya--a well-expressed sentence; but far from--from--being fact. The safelyabstract could hardly require--a--a--a cameo----"

The long walk, the sea breeze, the distant lapping of the water--allthese combined had done their soothing work. 

Lady Ingleby slept peacefully in Horseshoe Cove; and the rising tidecrept in. 

CHAPTER IX

JIM AIRTH TO THE RESCUE

An hour later, a man swung along the path at the summit of the cliffs, whistling like a blackbird. 

The sun was setting; and, as he walked, he revelled in the gold andcrimson of the sky; in the opal tints upon the heaving sea. 

The wind had risen as the sun set, and breakers were beginning to poundalong the shore. 

Suddenly something caught his eye, far down below. 

"By Jove!" he said. "A scarlet poppy on the sands!"

He walked on, until his rapid stride brought him to the centre of thecliff above Horseshoe Cove. 

Then--"Good Lord!" said Jim Airth, and stood still. 

He had caught sight of Lady Ingleby's white skirt reposing on the sand, beyond the scarlet parasol. 

"Good Lord!" said Jim Airth. 

Then he scanned the horizon. Not a boat to be seen. 

His quick eye travelled along the cliff, the way he had come. Not aliving thing in sight. 

On to the fishing village. Faint threads of ascending vapour indicatedchimneys. "Two miles at least, " muttered Jim Airth. "I could not run itand get back with a boat, under three quarters of an hour. "

Then he looked down into the cove. 

"Both ends cut off. The water will reach her feet in ten minutes; willsweep the base of the cliff, in twenty. "

Exactly beneath the spot where he stood, more than half way down, was aledge about six feet long by four feet wide. 

Letting himself over the edge, holding to tufts of grass, tiny shrubs, jutting stones, cracks in the surface of the sandstone, he managed toreach this narrow ledge, dropping the last ten feet, and landing on it byan almost superhuman effort of balance. 

One moment he paused; carefully took its measure; then, leaning over, looked down. Sixty feet remained, a precipitous slope, with nothing towhich foot could hold, or hand could cling. 

Jim Airth buttoned his Norfolk jacket, and tightened his belt. Thenslipping, feet foremost off the ledge, he glissaded down on his back, bending his knees at the exact moment when his feet thudded heavily on tothe sand. 

For a moment the shock stunned him. Then he got up and looked around. 

He stood, within ten yards of the scarlet parasol, on the small strip ofsand still left uncovered by the rapidly advancing sweep of the risingtide. 

CHAPTER X

"YEO HO, WE GO!"

"A cameo chaperonage, " murmured Lady Ingleby, and suddenly opened hereyes. 

Sky and sea were still there, but between them, closer than sea or sky, looking down upon her with a tense light in his blue eyes, stood JimAirth. 

"Why, I have been asleep!" said Lady Ingleby. 

"You have, " said Jim Airth; "and meanwhile the sun has set, and--the tidehas come up. Allow me to assist you to rise. "

Lady Ingleby put her hand into his, and he helped her to her feet. Shestood beside him gazing, with wide startled eyes, at the expanse of sea, the rushing waves, the tiny strip of sand. 

"The tide seems very high, " said Lady Ingleby. 

"Very high, " agreed Jim Airth. He stood close beside her, but his eyesstill eagerly scanned the water. If by any chance a boat came round thepoint there would still be time to hail it. 

"We seem to be cut off, " said Lady Ingleby. 

"We _are_ cut off, " replied Jim Airth, laconically. 

"Then I suppose we must have a boat, " said Lady Ingleby. 

"An excellent suggestion, " replied Jim Airth, drily, "if a boat were tobe had. But, unfortunately, we are two miles from the hamlet, and this isnot a time when boats pass in and out; nor would they come this way. WhenI saw you, from the top of the cliff, I calculated the chances as towhether I could reach the boats, and be back here in time. But, before Icould have returned with a boat, you would have--been very wet, " finishedJim Airth, somewhat lamely. 

He looked at the lovely face, close to his shoulder. It was pale andserious, but showed no sign of fear. 

He glanced at the point of cliff beyond. Twenty feet above its rocky basethe breakers were dashing; but round that point would be safety. 

"Can you swim?" asked Jim Airth, eagerly. 

Myra's calm grey eyes met his, steadily. A gleam of amusement dawned inthem. 

"If you put your hand under my chin, and count 'one--two! one--two!' veryloud and quickly, I can swim nearly ten yards, " she said. 

Jim Airth laughed. His eyes met hers, in sudden comprehendingcomradeship. "By Jove, you're plucky!" they seemed to say. But what hereally said was: "Then swimming is no go. "

"No go, for me, " said Myra, earnestly, "nor for you, weighted by me. Weshould never get round that eddying whirlpool. It would merely mean thatwe should both be drowned. But you can easily do it alone. Oh, go atonce! Go quickly! And--don't look back. I shall be all right. I shalljust sit down against the cliff, and wait. I have always been fond of thesea. "

Jim Airth looked at her again. And, this time, open admiration shone inhis keen eyes. 

"Ah, brave!" he said. "A mother of soldiers! Such women make of us afighting race. "

Myra laid her hand on his sleeve. "My friend, " she said, "it was nevergiven me to be a mother. But I am a soldier's daughter, and a soldier'swidow; and--I am not afraid to die. Oh, I do beg of you--give me onehandclasp and go!"

Jim Airth took the hand held out, but he kept it firmly in his own. 

"You shall not die, " he said, between his teeth. "Do you suppose I wouldleave any woman to die alone? And _you_--you, of all women!--By heaven, "he repeated, doggedly; "you shall not die. Do you think I could go; andleave--" he broke off abruptly. 

Myra smiled. His hand was very strong, and her heart felt strangelyrestful. And had he not said: "_You_, of all women?" But, even in whatseemed likely to be her last moments, Lady Ingleby's unfailing instinctwas to be tactful. 

"I am sure you would leave no woman in danger, " she said; "and some, alas! might have been easier to save than I. Plump little Miss Susiewould have floated. "

Jim Airth's big laugh rang out. "And Miss Murgatroyd could have sailedaway in her cameo, " he said. 

Then, as if that laugh had broken the spell which held him inactive:"Come, " he cried, and drew her to the foot of the cliff; "we have not amoment to lose! Look! Do you see the way I came down? See that long slidein the sand? I tobogganed down there on my back. Pretty steep, andnothing to hold to, I admit; but not so very far up, after all. And, where my slide begins, is a blessed ledge four foot by six. " He pulledout a huge clasp-knife, opened the largest blade, and commenced hackingsteps in the face of the cliff. "We must climb, " said Jim Airth. 

"I have never climbed, " whispered Myra's voice behind him. 

"You must climb to-day, " said Jim Airth. 

"I could never even climb trees, " whispered Myra. 

"You must climb a cliff to-night. It is our only chance. "

He hacked on, rapidly. 

Suddenly he paused. "Show me your reach, " he said. "Mine would not do. Put your left hand there; so. Now stretch up with your right; as high asyou can, easily. .. . Ah! three foot six, or thereabouts. Now your leftfoot close to the bottom. Step up with your right, as high as you cancomfortably. .. . Two foot, nine. Good! One step, more or less, might makeall the difference, by-and-by. Now listen, while I work. What a God-sendfor us that there happens to be, just here, this stratum of soft sand. Weshould have been done for, had the cliff been serpentine marble. You mustchoose between two plans. I could scrape you a step, wider than therest--almost a ledge--just out of reach of the water, leaving you there, while I go on up, and finish. Then I could return for you. You couldclimb in front, I helping from below. You would feel safer. Or--you mustfollow me up now, step by step, as I cut them. "

"I could not wait on a ledge alone, " said Myra. "I will follow you, stepby step. "

"Good, " said Jim Airth; "it will save time. I am afraid you must take offyour shoes and stockings. Nothing will do for this work, but naked feet. We shall need to stick our toes into the sand, and make them cling onlike fingers. "

He pulled off his own boots and stockings; then drew the belt from hisNorfolk jacket, and fastened it firmly round his left ankle in such a waythat a long end would hang down behind him as he mounted. 

"See that?" he said. "When you are in the niches below me, it will hangclose to your hands. If you are slipping, and feel you _must_ clutch atsomething, catch hold of that. Only, if possible, shout first, and I willstick on like a limpet, and try to withstand the strain. But don't do it, unless really necessary. "

He picked up Myra's shoes and stockings, and put them into his bigpockets. 

At that moment an advance wave rushed up the sand and caught their barefeet. 

"Oh, Jim Airth, " cried Myra, "go without me! I have not a steady head. Icannot climb. "

He put his hands upon her shoulders, and looked full into her eyes. 

"You _can_ climb, " he said. "You _must_ climb. You _shall_ climb. We mustclimb--or drown. And, remember: if you fall, I fall too. You will not besaving me, by letting yourself go. "

She looked up into his eyes, despairingly. They blazed into hers frombeneath his bent brows. She felt the tremendous mastery of his will. Herown gave one final struggle. 

"I have nothing to live for, Jim Airth, " she said. "I am alone in theworld. "

"So am I, " he cried. "I have been worse than alone, for a half score ofyears. But there is _life_ to live for. Would you throw away the highestof all gifts? I want to live--Good God! I _must_ live; and so must you. We live or die together. "

He loosed her shoulders and took her by the wrists. He lifted hertrembling hands, and held them against his breast. 

For a moment they stood so, in absolute silence. 

Then Myra felt herself completely dominated. All fear slipped from her;but the assurance which took its place was his courage, not hers; and sheknew it. Lifting her head, she smiled at him, with white lips. 

"I shall not fall, " she said. 

Another wave swept round their ankles, and remained there. 

"Good, " said Jim Airth, and loosed her wrists. "We shall owe our lives toeach other. Next time I look into your face, please God, we shall be insafety. Come!"

He sprang up the face of the cliff, standing in the highest niches he hadmade. 

"Now follow me, carefully, " he said; "slowly, and carefully. We are notin a position to hurry. Always keep each hand and each foot firmly in aniche. Are you there? Good!. .. Now don't look either up or down, but keepyour eyes on my heels. Directly I move, come on into the empty places. See?. .. Now then. Can you manage?. .. Good! On we go! After all it won'ttake long. .. . I say, what fun if the Miss Murgatroyds peeped over thecliff! Amelia would be so shocked at our bare feet. Eliza would cry: 'Ohmy dear love!' And Susie would promptly fall upon us! Hullo! Steady downthere! Don't laugh too much. .. . Fine knife, this. I bought it in Mexico. And if the big blade gives out, there are two more; also a saw, and acork-screw. .. . Mind the falling sand does not get into your eyes. .. . Tellme if the niches are not deep enough, and remember there is no hurry, weare not aiming to catch any particular train! Steady down there! Don'tlaugh. .. . Up we go! Oh, good! This is a third of the way. Don't lookeither up or down. Watch my heels--I wish they were more worth lookingat--and remember the belt is quite handy, and I am as firm as a rock uphere. You and all the Miss Murgatroyds might hang on to it together. Steady down there!. .. All right; I won't mention them. .. . By the way, thewater must be fairly deep below us now. If you fell, you would merely geta ducking. I should slide down and pull you out, and we would startafresh. .. . Good Lord!. .. Oh, never mind! Nothing. Only, my knife slipped, but I caught it again. .. . We must be half way, by now. How lucky we havemy glissading marks to guide us. I can't see the ledge from here. Let'ssing 'Nancy Lee. ' I suppose you know it. I can always work better to agood rollicking tune. "

Then, as he drove his blade into the cliff, Jim Airth's gay voice rangout:

 "Of all the wives as e'er you know, Yeo ho! lads! ho! Yeo ho! Yeo ho! There's none like Nancy Lee, I trow, Yeo ho! lads! ho! Yeo ho! See there she stands

--Blow! I've struck a rock! Not a big one though. Remember this step willbe slightly more to your right

 --and waves her hands, Upon the quay, And ev'ry day when I'm away, She'll watch for me; And whisper low, when tempests blow--

Oh, hang these unexpected stones! That's finished my big blade!

 --For Jack at sea, Yeo ho! lads, ho! Yeo ho!

Now the chorus. 

 The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be, --

Come on! You sing too!"

 "Yeo ho! we go, Across the sea!"

came Lady Ingleby's voice from below, rather faint and quavering. 

"That's right!" shouted Jim Airth. "Keep it up! I can see the ledge now, just above us. 

 The bo's'n pipes the watch below, Yeo ho! lads! ho! Yeo ho! Yeo ho! Then here's a health afore we go, Yeo ho! lads! ho! Yeo ho! A long, long life to my sweet wife, And mates at sea

--Keep it up down there! I have one hand on the ledge--

 And keep our bones from Davy Jones Where'er we be!"

 "And--keep our bones--from-- Davy Jones--who e'er he be, "

quavered Lady Ingleby, making one final effort to move up into the vacantniches, though conscious that her fingers and toes were so numb that shecould not feel them grip the sand. 

Then Jim Airth's whole body vanished suddenly from above her, as he drewhimself on to the ledge. 

"_Yeo ho! we go_!" Came his gay voice from above. 

 _"Yeo ho! Yeo ho!"_

sang Lady Ingleby, in a faint whisper. 

She could not move on into the empty niches. She could only remain whereshe was, clinging to the face of the cliff. 

She suddenly thought of a fly on a wall; and remembered a particular fly, years ago, on her nursery wall. She had followed its ascent with a smallinterested finger, and her nurse had come by with a duster, and saying:"Nasty thing!" had ruthlessly flicked it off. The fly had fallen--fallendead, on the nursery carpet. .. . Lady Ingleby felt she too was falling. She gave one agonised glance upward to the towering cliff, with the lineof sky above it. Then everything swayed and rocked. "A mother ofsoldiers, " her brain insisted, "must fall without screaming. " Then--Along arm shot down from above; a strong hand gripped her firmly. 

"One step more, " said Jim Airth's voice, close to her ear, "and I canlift you. "

She made the effort, and he drew her on to the ledge beside him. 

"Thank you very much, " said Lady Ingleby. "And who was Davy Jones?"

Jim Airth's face was streaming with perspiration. His mouth was full ofsand. His heart was beating in his throat. But he loved to play the game, and he loved to see another do it. So he laughed as he put his arm aroundher, holding her tightly so that she should not realise how much she wastrembling. 

"Davy Jones, " he said, "is a gentleman who has a locker at the bottom ofthe sea, into which all drown'd things go. I am afraid your prettyparasol has gone there, and my boots and stockings. But we may well sparehim those. .. . Oh, I say!. .. . Yes, do have a good cry. Don't mind me. Anddon't you think between us we could remember some sort of a prayer? Forif ever two people faced death together, we have faced it; and, by God'smercy, here we are--alive. "

CHAPTER XI

'TWIXT SEA AND SKY

Myra never forgot Jim Airth's prayer. Instinctively she knew it to be thefirst time he had voiced his soul's thanksgiving or petitions in thepresence of another. Also she realised that, for the first time in herwhole life, prayer became to her a reality. As she crouched on the ledgebeside him, shaking uncontrollably, so that, but for his arm about her, she must have lost her balance and fallen; as she heard that strong soulexpressing in simple unorthodox language its gratitude for life andsafety, mingled with earnest petition for keeping through the night andcomplete deliverance in the morning; it seemed to Myra that the heavensopened, and the felt presence of God surrounded them in their strangeisolation. 

An immense peace filled her. By the time those disjointed haltingsentences were finished, Myra had ceased trembling; and when Jim Airth, suddenly at a loss how else to wind up his prayer, commenced "Our Father, Who art in heaven, " Myra's sweet voice united with his, full of anearnest fervour of petition. 

At the final words, Jim Airth withdrew his arm, and a shy silence fellbetween them. The emotion of the mind had awakened an awkwardness ofbody. In that uniting "_Our_ Father, " their souls had leapt on, beyondwhere their bodies were quite prepared to follow. 

Lady Ingleby saved the situation. She turned to Jim Airth, with thatimpulsive sweetness which could never be withstood. In the rapidlydeepening twilight, he could just see the large wistful grey eyes, in thewhite oval of her face. 

"Do you know, " she said, "I really couldn't possibly sit all night, on aledge the size of a Chesterfield sofa, with a person I had to call 'Mr. 'I could only sit there with an old and intimate friend, who wouldnaturally call me 'Myra, ' and whom I might call 'Jim. ' Unless I may callyou 'Jim, ' I shall insist on climbing down and swimming home. And if youaddress me as 'Mrs. O'Mara, ' I shall certainly become hysterical, andtumble off!"

"Why of course, " said Jim Airth. "I hate titles of any kind. I come of anold Quaker stock, and plain names with no prefixes always seem best tome. And are we not old and trusted friends? Was not each of those minuteson the face of the cliff, a year? While that second which elapsed betweenthe slipping of my knife from my right hand and the catching of it, against my knee, by my left, may go at ten years! Ah, think if it haddropped altogether! No, don't think. We were barely half way up. Now youmust contrive to put on your shoes and stockings. " He produced them fromhis pocket. "And then we must find out how to place ourselves mostcomfortably and safely. We have but one enemy to fight during the nextseven hours--cramp. You must tell me immediately if you feel itthreatening anywhere, I have done a lot of scouting in my time, and knowa dodge or two. I also know what it is to lie in one position for hours, not daring to move a muscle, the cold sweat pouring off my face, simplyfrom the agonies of cramp. We must guard against that. "

"Jim, " said Myra, "how long shall we have to sit here?"

He made a quick movement, as if the sound of his name from her lips forthe first time, meant much to him; and there was in his voice an addeddepth of joyousness, as he answered:

"It would be impossible to climb from here to the top of the cliff. WhenI came down, I had a sheer drop of ten feet. You see the cliff slightlyoverhangs just above us. So far as the tide is concerned we might clamberdown in three hours; but there is no moon, and by then, it will be pitchdark. We must have light for our descent, if I am to land you safe andunshaken at the bottom. Dawn should be breaking soon after three. The sunrises to-morrow at 3. 44; but it will be quite light before then. I thinkwe may expect to reach the Moorhead Inn by 4 A. M. Let us hope MissMurgatroyd will not be looking out of her window, as we stroll up thepath. "

"What are they all thinking now?" questioned Lady Ingleby. 

"I don't know, and I don't care, " said Jim Airth, gaily. "You're alive, and I'm alive; and we've done a record climb! Nothing else matters. "

"No, but seriously, Jim?"

"Well, seriously, it is very unlikely that I shall be missed at all. Ioften dine elsewhere, and let myself in quite late; or stop outaltogether. How about you?"

"Why, curiously enough, " said Myra, "before coming out I locked mybedroom door. I have the key here. I had left some papers lying about--Iam not a very tidy person. On the only other occasion upon which I lockedmy door, I omitted dinner altogether, and went to bed on returning frommy evening walk. I am supposed to be doing a 'rest-cure' here. The maidtried my door, went away, and did not turn up again until next morning. Most likely she has done the same to-night. "

"Then I don't suppose they will send out a search-party, " said JimAirth. 

"No. We are so alone down here. We only matter to ourselves, " said Myra. 

"And to each other, " said Jim Airth, quietly. 

Myra's heart stood still. 

Those four words, spoken so simply by that deep tender voice, meant moreto her than any words had ever meant. They meant so much, that they madefor themselves a silence--a vast holy temple of wonder and realisationwherein they echoed back and forth, repeating themselves again andagain. 

The two on the ledge sat listening. 

The chant of mutual possession, so suddenly set going, was too beautifula thing to be interrupted by other words. 

Even Lady Ingleby's unfailing habit of tactful speech was not allowed tospoil the deep sweetness of this unexpected situation. Myra's heart waswaking; and when the heart is stirred, the mind sometimes forgets to betactful. 

At length:--"Don't you remember, " he said, very low, "what I told youbefore we began to climb? Did I not say, that if we succeeded in reachingthe ledge safely, we should owe our lives to each other? Well, we did;and--we do. "

"Ah, no, " cried Myra, impulsively. "No, Jim Airth! You--glad, and safe, and free--were walking along the top of these cliffs. I, in my senselessfolly, lay sleeping on the sand below, while the tide rose around me. Youcame down into danger to save me, risking your life in so doing. I oweyou my life, Jim Airth; you owe me nothing. "

The man beside her turned and looked at her, with his quiet whimsicalsmile. 

"I am not accustomed to have my statements amended, " he said, drily. 

It was growing so dark, they could only just discern each other's faces. 

Lady Ingleby laughed. She was so unused to that kind of remark, that, atthe moment she could frame no suitable reply. 

Presently:--"I suppose I really owe my life to my scarlet parasol, " shesaid. "Had it not attracted your attention, you would not have seen me. "

"Should I not?" questioned Jim Airth, his eyes on the white loveliness ofher face. "Since I saw you first, on the afternoon of your arrival, haveyou ever once come within my range of vision without my seeing you, andtaking in every detail?"

"On the afternoon of my arrival?" questioned Lady Ingleby, astonished. 

"Yes, " replied Jim Airth, deliberately. "Seven o'clock, on the first ofJune. I stood at the smoking-room window, at a loose end of all things;sick of myself, dissatisfied with my manuscript, tired of friedfish--don't laugh; small things, as well as great, go to make up the sumof a man's depression. Then the gate swung back, and YOU--in goldencapitals--the sunlight in your eyes, came up the garden path. I judgedyou to be a woman grown, in years perhaps not far short of my own age; Iguessed you a woman of the world, with a position to fill, and aknowledge of men and things. Yet you looked just a lovely child, steppinginto fairy-land; the joyful surprise of unexpected holiday danced in yourradiant eyes. Since then, the beautiful side of life has always beenyou--YOU, in golden capitals. "

Jim Airth paused, and sat silent. 

It was quite dark now. 

Myra slipped her hand into his, which closed upon it with a strongunhesitating clasp. 

"Go on, Jim, " she said, softly. 

"I went out into the hall, and saw your name in the visitors' book. Theink was still wet. The handwriting was that of the holiday-child--Ishould like to set you copies! The name surprised me--agreeably. I hadexpected to be able at once to place the woman who had walked up thepath. It was a surprise and a relief to find that my Fairy-land Princesswas not after all a fashionable beauty or a society leader, but ownedjust a simple Irish name, and lived at a Lodge. "

"Go on, Jim, " said Lady Ingleby, rather tremulously. 

"Then the name 'Shenstone' interested me, because I know the Inglebys--atleast, I knew Lord Ingleby, well; and I shall soon know Lady Ingleby. Infact I have written to-day asking for an interview. I must see her onbusiness connected with notes of her husband's which, if she givespermission, are to be embodied in my book. I suppose if you live nearShenstone Park you know the Inglebys?"

"Yes, " said Myra. "But tell me, Jim; if--if you noticed so much thatfirst day; if you were--interested; if you wanted to set me copies--yes, I know I write a shocking hand;--why would you never look at me? Why wereyou so stiff and unfriendly? Why were you not as nice to me as you wereto Susie, for instance?"

Jim Airth sat long in silence, staring out into the darkness. At last hesaid:

"I want to tell you. Of course, I _must_ tell you. But--may I ask a fewquestions first?"

Lady Ingleby also gazed unseeingly into the darkness; but she leaned alittle nearer to the broad shoulder beside her. "Ask me what you will, "she said. "There is nothing, in my whole life, I would not tell you, JimAirth. "

Her cheek was so close to the rough Norfolk jacket, that if it had moveda shade nearer, she would have rested against it. But it did not move;only, the clasp on her hand tightened. 

"Were you married very young?" asked Jim Airth. 

"I was not quite eighteen. It is ten years ago. "

"Did you marry for love?"

There was a long silence, while both looked steadily into the darkness. 

Then Myra answered, speaking very slowly. "To be quite honest, I think Imarried chiefly to escape from a very unhappy home. Also I was veryyoung, and knew nothing--nothing of life, and nothing of love; and--howcan I explain, Jim Airth?--I have not learnt much during these ten longyears. "

"Have you been unhappy?" He asked the question very low. 

"Not exactly unhappy. My husband was a very good man; kind and patient, beyond words, towards me. But I often vaguely felt I was missing the Bestin life. Now--I know I was. "

"How long have you been--How long has he been dead?" The deep voice wasso tender, that the question could bring no pain. 

"Seven months, " replied Lady Ingleby. "My husband was killed in theassault on Targai. "

"At Targai!" exclaimed Jim Airth, surprised into betraying hisastonishment. Then at once recovering himself: "Ah, yes; of course. Sevenmonths. I was there, you know. "

But, within himself, he was thinking rapidly, and much was becomingclear. 

Sergeant O'Mara! Was it possible? An exquisite refined woman such asthis, bearing about her the unmistakable hall-mark of high birth andperfect breeding? The Sergeant was a fine fellow, and superior--but, goodLord! _Her_ husband! Yet girls of eighteen do foolish things, and repentever after. A runaway match from an unhappy home; then cast off by herrelations, and now left friendless and alone. But--Sergeant O'Mara! Yetno other O'Mara fell at Targai; and there _was_ some link between him andLord Ingleby. 

Then, into his musing, came Myra's soft voice, from close beside him, inthe darkness: "My husband was always good to me; but----"

And Jim Airth laid his other hand over the one he held. "I am sure hewas, " he said, gently. "But if you had been older, and had known more oflove and life you would have done differently. Don't try to explain. Iunderstand. "

And Myra gladly left it at that. It would have been so very difficult toexplain further, without explaining Michael; and all that really matteredwas, that--with or without explanation--Jim Airth understood. 

"And now--tell me, " she suggested, softly. 

"Ah, yes, " he said, pulling himself together, with an effort. "Myexperience also misses the Best, and likewise covers ten long years. Butit is a harder one than yours. I married, when a boy of twenty-one, awoman, older than myself; supremely beautiful. I went mad over herloveliness. Nothing seemed to count or matter, but that. I knew she wasnot a good woman, but I thought she might become so; and even if shedidn't it made no difference. I wanted her. Afterwards I found she hadlaughed at me, all the time. Also, there had all the time beenanother--an older man than I--who had laughed with her. He had not beenin a position to marry her when I did; but two years later, he came intomoney. Then--she left me. "

Jim Airth paused. His voice was hard with pain. The night was very black. In the dark silence they could hear the rhythmic thunder of the wavespounding monotonously against the cliff below. 

"I divorced her, of course; and he married her; but I went abroad, andstayed abroad. I never could look upon her as other than my wife. She hadmade a hell of my life; robbed me of every illusion; wrecked my ideals;imbittered my youth. But I had said, before God, that I took her for mywife, until death parted us; and, so long as we were both alive, whatpower could free me from that solemn oath? It seemed to me that byremaining in another hemisphere, I made her second marriage less sinful. Often, at first, I was tempted to shoot myself, as a means of rightingthis other wrong. But in time I outgrew that morbidness, and realisedthat though Love is good, Life is the greatest gift of all. To throw itaway, voluntarily, is an unpardonable sin. The suicide's punishmentshould be loss of immortality. Well, I found work to do, of all sorts, inAmerica, and elsewhere. And a year ago--she died. I should have comestraight home, only I was booked for that muddle on the frontier theycalled 'a war. ' I got fever after Targai; was invalided home; and here Iam recruiting and finishing my book. Now you can understand whyloveliness in a woman, fills me with a sort of panic, even while a partof me still leaps up instinctively to worship it. I had often said tomyself that if I ever ventured upon matrimony again, it should be a plainface, and a noble heart; though all the while I knew I should never bringmyself really to want the plain face. And yet, just as the burnt childdreads the fire, I have always tried to look away from beauty. Only--myFairy-land Princess, may I say it?--days ago I began to feel certain thatin you--YOU in golden capitals--the loveliness and the noble heart wenttogether. But from the moment when, stepping out of the sunset, youwalked up the garden path, right into my heart, the fact of YOU, justbeing what you are, and being here, meant so much to me, that I did notdare let it mean more. Somehow I never connected you with widowhood; andnot until you said this evening on the shore: 'I am a soldier's widow, 'did I know that you were free. --There! Now you have heard all there is tohear. I made a bad mistake at the beginning; but I hope I am not the sortof chap you need mind sitting on a ledge with, and calling 'Jim'. "

For answer, Myra's cheek came trustfully to rest against the sleeve ofthe rough tweed coat. "Jim, " she said; "Oh, Jim!"

 * * * * *

Presently: "So you know the Inglebys?" remarked Jim Airth. 

"Yes, " said Myra. 

"Is 'The Lodge' near Shenstone Park?"

"The Lodge is _in_ the park. It is not at any of the gates. --I am not agate-keeper, Jim!--It is a pretty little house, standing by itself, justinside the north entrance. "

"Do you rent it from them?"

Myra hesitated, but only for the fraction of a second. "No; it is my own. Lord Ingleby gave it to me. "

"_Lord_ Ingleby?" Jim Airth's voice sounded like knitted brows. "Why not_Lady_ Ingleby?"

"It was not hers, to give. All that is hers, was his. "

"I see. Which of them did you know first?"

"I have known Lady Ingleby all my life, " said Myra, truthfully; "and Ihave known Lord Ingleby since his marriage. "

"Ah. Then he became your friend, because he married her?"

Myra laughed. "Yes, " she said. "I suppose so. "

"What's the joke?"

"Only that it struck me as an amusing way of putting it; but it isundoubtedly true. "

"Have they any children?"

Myra's voice shook slightly. "No, none. Why do you ask?"

"Well, in the campaign, I often shared Lord Ingleby's tent; and he usedto talk in his sleep. "

"Yes?"

"There was one name he often called and repeated. "

Lady Ingleby's heart stood still. 

"Yes?" she said, hardly breathing. 

"It was 'Peter', " continued Jim Airth. "The night before he was killed, he kept turning in his sleep and saying: 'Peter! Hullo, little Peter!Come here!' I thought perhaps he had a little son named Peter. "

"He had no son, " said Lady Ingleby, controlling her voice with effort. "Peter was a dog of which he was very fond. Was that the only name hespoke?"

"The only one I ever heard, " replied Jim Airth. 

Then suddenly Lady Ingleby clasped both hands round his arm. 

"Jim, " she whispered, brokenly, "Not once have you spoken my name. It wasa bargain. We were to be old and intimate friends. I seem to have beencalling you 'Jim' all my life! But you have not yet called me 'Myra, ' Letme hear it now, please. "

Jim Airth laid his big hand over both of hers. 

"I can't, " he said. "Hush! I can't. Not up here--it means too much. Waituntil we get back to earth again. Then--Oh, I say! Can't you help?"

This kind of emotion was an unknown quantity to Lady Ingleby. So was thewild beating of her own heart. But she knew the situation called fortact, and was not tactful speech always her special forte?

"Jim, " she said, "are you not frightfully hungry? I should be; only I hadan enormous tea before coming out. Would you like to hear what I had fortea? No. I am afraid it would make you feel worse. I suppose dinner atthe inn was over, long ago. I wonder what variation of fried fish theyhad, and whether Miss Susannah choked over a fish-bone, and had to berequested to leave the room. Oh, do you remember that evening? You lookedso dismayed and alarmed, I quite thought you were going to the rescue! Iwonder what time it is?"

"We can soon tell that, " said Jim Airth, cheerfully. He dived into hispocket, produced a matchbox which he had long been fingering turn aboutwith his pipe and tobacco-pouch, struck a light, and looked at his watch. Myra saw the lean brown face, in the weird flare of the match. She alsosaw the horrid depth so close to them, which she had almost forgotten. Asense of dizziness came over her. She longed to cling to his arm; but hehad drawn it resolutely away. 

"Half past ten, " said Jim Airth. "Miss Murgatroyd has donned hernight-cap. Miss Eliza has sighed: '_Good-night, summer, good-night, good-night_, ' at her open lattice; and Susie, folding her plump hands, has said: '_Now I lay me_. '"

Myra laughed. "And they will all be listening for you to dump out yourbig boots, " she said. "That is always your 'Good-night' to the otherwisesilent house. "

"No, really? Does it make a noise?" said Jim Airth, ruefully. "Neveragain----?"

"Oh, but you must, " said Myra. "I love--I mean _Susie_ loves the sound, and listens for it. Jim, that match reminds me:--why don't you smoke?Surely it would help the hunger, and be comfortable and cheering. "

Jim Airth's pipe and pouch were out in a twinkling. 

"Sure you don't mind? It doesn't make you sick, or give you a headache?"

"No, I think I like it, " said Myra. "In fact, I am sure I like it. Thatis, I like to sit beside it. No, I don't do it myself. "

Another match flared, and again she saw the chasm, and the nearness ofthe edge. She bore it until the pipe was drawing well. Then: "Oh, Jim, "she said, "I am so sorry; but I am afraid I am becoming dizzy. I feel asthough I must fall over. " She gave a half sob. 

Jim Airth turned, instantly alert. 

"Nonsense, " he said, but the sharp word sounded tender. "Four good feetof width are as safe as forty. Change your position a bit. " He put hisarm around her, and moved her so that she leant more completely againstthe cliff at their backs. "Now forget the edge, " he said, "and listen. Iam going to tell you camp yarns, and tales of the Wild West. "

Then as they sat on in the darkness, Jim Airth smoked and talked, painting vivid word-pictures of life and adventure in other lands. AndMyra listened, absorbed and enchanted; every moment realising more fully, as he unconsciously revealed it, the manly strength and honest simplicityof his big nature, with its fun and its fire; its huge capacity forenjoyment; its corresponding capacity for pain. 

And, as she listened, her heart said: "Oh, my cosmopolitan cowboy! ThankGod you found no title in the book, to put you off. Thank God you foundno name which you could 'place, ' relegating its poor possessor to theranks of 'society leaders' in which you would have had no share. And, oh!most of all, I thank God for the doctor's wise injunction: 'Leave behindyou your own identity'!"

CHAPTER XII

UNDER THE MORNING STAR

The night wore on. 

Stars shone in the deep purple sky; bright watchful eyes looking downunwearied upon the sleeping world. 

The sound of the sea below fell from a roar to a murmur, and drew awayinto the distance. 

It was a warm June night, and very still. 

Jim Airth had moved along the ledge to the further end, and sat swinginghis legs over the edge. His content was so deep and full, that ordinaryspeech seemed impossible; and silence, a glad necessity. The prospect ofthat which the future might hold in store, made the ledge too narrow tocontain him. He sought relief in motion, and swung his long legs out intothe darkness. 

It had not occurred to him to wonder at his companion's silence; thereason for his own had been so all-sufficient. 

At length he struck a match to see the time; then, turning with a smile, held it so that its light illumined Myra. 

She knelt upon the ledge, her hands pressed against the overhangingcliff, her head turned in terror away from it. Her face was ashen in itswhiteness, and large tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Jim dropped the match, with an exclamation, and groped towards her in thedarkness. 

"Dear!" he cried, "Oh, my dear, what is the matter? Selfish fool, that Iam! I thought you were just resting, quiet and content. "

His groping hands found and held her. 

"Oh, Jim, " sobbed Lady Ingleby, "I am so sorry! It is so weak andunworthy. But I am afraid I feel faint. The whole cliff seems to rock andmove. Every moment I fear it will tip me over. And you seemed milesaway!"

"You _are_ faint, " said Jim Airth; "and no wonder. There is nothing weakor unworthy about it. You have been quite splendid. It is I who have beena thoughtless ass. But I can't have you fainting up here. You must liedown at once. If I sit on the edge with my back to you, can you slipalong behind me and lie at full length, leaning against the cliff?"

"No, oh no, I couldn't!" whispered Myra. "It frightens me so horriblywhen you hang your legs over the edge, and I can't bear to touch thecliff. It seems worse than the black emptiness. It rocks to and fro, andseems to push me over. Oh, Jim! What shall I do? Help me, help me!"

"You _must_ lie down, " said Jim Airth, between his teeth. "Here, wait aminute. Move out a little way. Don't be afraid. I have hold of you. Letme get behind you. .. . That's right. Now you are not touching the cliff. Let me get my shoulders firmly into the hollow at this end, and my feetfixed at the other. There! With my back rammed into it like this, nothingshort of an earthquake could dislodge me. Now dear--turn your back to meand your face to the sea and let yourself go. You will not fall over. Donot be afraid. "

Very gently, but very firmly, he drew her into his arms. 

Tired, frightened, faint, --Lady Ingleby was conscious at first of nothingsave the intense relief of the sense of his great strength about her. Sheseemed to have been fighting the cliff and resisting the gaping darkness, until she was utterly worn out. Now she yielded to his gentle insistence, and sank into safety. Her cheek rested against his rough coat, and itseemed to her more soothing than the softest pillow. With a sigh ofcontent, she folded her hands upon her breast, and he laid one of his bigones firmly over them both. She felt so safe, and held. 

Then she heard Jim Airth's voice, close to her ear. 

"We are not alone, " he said. "You must try to sleep, dear; but first Iwant you to realise that we are not alone. Do you know what I mean? _Godis here. _ When I was a very little chap, I used to go to a Dame-school inthe Highlands; and the old dame made me learn by heart the hundred andthirty-ninth psalm. I have repeated parts of it in all sorts of places ofdifficulty and danger. I am going to say my favourite verses to you now. Listen. 'Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee fromThy presence?. .. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in theuttermost parts of the sea; even there shall Thy hand lead me, and Thyright hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me;even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not fromThee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light areboth alike to Thee. .. . How precious also are Thy thoughts unto me, O God!how great is the sum of them. If I should count them they are more innumber than the sand: when I awake I am still with Thee. '"

The deep voice ceased. Lady Ingleby opened her eyes. "I was nearlyasleep, " she said. "How good you are, Jim. "

"No, I am not good, " he answered. "I'm a tough chap, full of faults, andbeset by failings. Only--if you will trust me, please God, I will neverfail you. But now I want you to sleep; and I don't want you to thinkabout me. I am merely a thing, which by God's providence is allowed tokeep you in safety. Do you see that wonderful planet, hanging like a lampin the sky? Watch it, while I tell you some lines written by an Americanwoman, on the thought of that last verse. "

And with his cheek against her soft hair, and his strong arms firmlyround her, Jim Airth repeated, slowly, Mrs. Beecher Stowe's matchlesspoem:

 "Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh, When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee; Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness--I am with Thee. 

 "Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows, The solemn hush of nature newly born; Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration, In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. 

 "As in the dawning, o'er the waveless ocean, The image of the morning star doth rest; So in this stillness Thou beholdest only Thine image in the waters of my breast. 

 "When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer; Sweet the repose, beneath Thy wings o'ershadowing, But sweeter still to wake, and find Thee there. 

 "So shall it be at last, in that bright morning When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee; Oh, in that hour, fairer than daylight's dawning, Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee!"

Jim Airth's voice ceased. He waited a moment in silence. 

Then--"Do you like it?" he asked softly. 

There was no answer. Myra slept as peacefully as a little child. He couldfeel the regular motion of her quiet breathing, beneath his hand. 

"Thank God!" said Jim Airth, with his eyes on the morning star. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE AWAKENING

When Lady Ingleby opened her eyes, she could not, for a moment, imaginewhere she was. 

Dawn was breaking over the sea. A rift of silver, in the purple sky, hadtaken the place of the morning star. She could see the silvery gleamreflected in the ocean. 

"Why am I sleeping so close to a large window?" queried her bewilderedmind. "Or am I on a balcony?"

"Why do I feel so extraordinarily strong and rested?" questioned herslowly awakening body. 

She lay quite still and considered the matter. 

Then looking down, she saw a large brown hand clasping both hers. Herhead was resting in the curve of the arm to which the hand belonged. Astrong right arm was flung over and around her. All questionings weresolved by two short words: "Jim Airth. "

Lady Ingleby lay very still. She feared to break the deep spell ofrestfulness which held her. She hesitated to bring down to earth theexquisite sense of heaven, by which she was surrounded. 

As the dawn broke over the sea, a wonderful light dawned in her eyes, aradiance such as had never shone in those sweet eyes before. "Dear God, "she whispered, "am I to know the Best?"

Then she gently withdrew one hand, and laid it on the hand which hadcovered both. 

"Jim, " she said. "Jim! Look! It is day. "

"Yes?" came Jim Airth's voice from behind her. "Yes? _What?_ COMEIN!--Hullo! Oh, I say!"

Myra smiled into the dawning. She had already come through those firstmoments of astonished realisation. But Jim Airth awoke to the situationmore quickly than she had done. 

"Hullo!" he said. "I meant to keep watch all the time; but I must haveslept. Are you all right? Sure? No cramp? Well, I have a cramp in my leftleg which will make me kick down the cliff in another minute, if I don'tmove it. Let me help you up. .. . That's the way. Now you sit safely there, while I get unwedged. .. . By Jove! I believe I've grown into the cliff, like a fossil ichthyosaurus. Did you ever see an ichthyosaurus? Doesn'tit seem years since you said: 'And who is Davy Jones?' Don't you wantsome breakfast? I suppose it's about time we went home. "

Talking gaily all the time, Jim Airth drew up his long limbs, rubbingthem vigorously; stretched his arms above his head; then passed his handover his tumbled hair. 

"My wig!" he said. "What a morning! And how good to be alive!"

Myra stole a look at him. His eyes were turned seaward. The samedawn-light was in them, as shone in her own. 

"Don't you want breakfast?" said Jim Airth, and pulled out his watch. 

"I do, " said Myra, gaily. "And now I can venture to tell you whatdelicious home-made bread I had for tea. What time is it, Jim?"

"Half past three. In a few minutes the sun will rise. Watch! Did you everbefore see the dawn? Is it not wonderful? Always more of pearl and silverthan at sunset. Look how the narrow rift has widened and spread rightacross the sky. The Monarch of Day is coming! See the little heraldclouds, in livery of pink and gold. Now watch where the sea looksbrightest. Ah!. .. There is the tip of his blood-red rim, rising out ofthe ocean. And how quickly the whole ball appears. Now see the ripplingpath of gold and crimson, a royal highway on the waters, right from theshore below us, to the footstool of his brilliant Majesty. .. . A new dayhas begun; and we have not said 'Good-morning. ' Why should we? We did notsay 'Good-night. ' How ideal it would be, never to say 'Good-morning'; andnever to say 'Good-night. ' The night would be always 'good', and so wouldthe morning. All life would be one grand crescendo of good--better--best. What? Have we found the Best? Ah, hush! I did not mean to say thatyet. .. . Are you ready for the climb down? No, I can't allow any peepingover, and considering. If you really feel afraid of it, I will run toTregarth as quickly as possible, rouse the sleeping village, bring ropesand men, and haul you up from the top. "

"I absolutely decline to be 'hauled up from the top, ' or to be left herealone, " declared Lady Ingleby. 

"Then the sooner we start down, the better, " said Jim Airth. "I'm goingfirst. " He was over the edge before Myra could open her lips toexpostulate. "Now turn round. Hold on to the ledge firmly with yourhands, and give me your feet. Do you hear? Do as I tell you. Don'thesitate. It is less steep than it seemed yesterday. We are quite safe. Come on!. .. That's right. "

Then Lady Ingleby passed through a most terrifying five minutes, whileshe yielded in blind obedience to the strong hands beneath her, and thebig voice which encouraged and threatened alternately. 

But when the descent was over and she stood on the shore beside JimAirth; when together they turned and looked in silence up the path ofglory on the rippling waters, to the blazing beauty of the rising sun, thankful tears rushed to Lady Ingleby's eyes. 

"Oh, Jim, " she exclaimed, "God is good! It is so wonderful to be alive!"

Then Jim Airth turned, his face transfigured, the sunlight in his eyes, and opened his arms. "Myra, " he said. "We have found the Best. "

 * * * * *

They walked along the shore, and up the steep street of the sleepingvillage, hand in hand like happy children. 

Arrived at the Moorhead Inn, they pushed open the garden gate, andstepped noiselessly across the sunlit lawn. 

The front door was firmly bolted. Jim Airth slipped round to the back, but returned in a minute shaking his head. Then he felt in his pocket forthe big knife which had served them so well; pushed back the catch of thecoffee-room window; softly raised the sash; swung one leg over, and drewMyra in after him. 

Once in the familiar room, with its mustard-pots and salt-cellars, itstable-cloths, left on in readiness for breakfast, they both lapsed intofits of uncontrollable laughter; laughter the more overwhelming, becauseit had to be silent. 

Jim, recovering first, went off to the larder to forage for food. 

Lady Ingleby flew noiselessly up to her room to wash her hands, andsmooth her hair. She returned in two minutes to find Jim, very proud ofhis success, setting out a crusty home-made loaf, a large cheese, and afoaming tankard of ale. 

Lady Ingleby longed for tea, and had never in her life drunk ale out of apewter pot. But not for worlds would she have spoiled Jim Airth's boyishdelight in the success of his raid on the larder. 

So they sat at the centre table, Myra in Miss Murgatroyd's place, and Jimin Susie's, and consumed their bread-and-cheese, and drank their beer, with huge appetites and prodigious enjoyment. And Jim used MissSusannah's napkin, and pretended to be sentimental over it. And Myrareproved him, after the manner of Miss Murgatroyd reproving Susie. Afterwhich they simultaneously exclaimed: "Oh, my dear love!" in Miss Eliza'smost affecting manner; then linked fingers for a wish, and could neitherof them think of one. 

By the time they had finished, and cleared away, it was half past five. They passed into the hall together. 

"You must get some more sleep, " said Jim Airth, authoritatively. 

"I will, if you wish it, " whispered Myra; "but I never, in my whole life, felt so strong or so rested. Jim, I shall sit at your table, and pour outyour coffee at breakfast. Let's aim to have it at nine, as usual. It willbe such fun to watch the Murgatroyds, and to remember our cheese andbeer. If you are down first, order our breakfasts at the same table. "

"All right, " said Jim Airth. 

Myra commenced mounting the stairs, but turned on the fifth step and hungover the banisters to smile at him. 

Jim Airth reached up his hand. "How can I let you go?" he exclaimedsuddenly. 

Myra leaned over, and smiled into his adoring eyes. 

"How can I go?" she whispered, tenderly. 

Jim Airth took both her hands in his. His eyes blazed up into hers. 

"Myra, " he said, "when shall we be married?"

Myra's face flamed, just as the soft white clouds had flamed when the sunarose. But she met the fire of his eyes without flinching. 

"When you will, Jim, " she answered gently. 

"As soon as possible, then, " said Jim Airth, eagerly. 

Myra withdrew her hands, and mounted two more steps; then turned to bendand whisper: "Why?"

"Because, " replied Jim Airth, "I do not know how to bear that thereshould be a day, or an hour, or a minute, when we cannot be together. "

"Ah, do you feel that, too?" whispered Myra. 

"Too?" cried Jim Airth. "Do _you_--Myra! Come back!"

But Lady Ingleby fled up the stairs like a hare. She had not run so fastsince she was a little child of ten. He heard her happy laugh, and theclosing of her door. 

Then he unbarred the front entrance; and stepping out, stood in thesunshine, on the path where he had seen his Fairy-land Princess arrive. 

He stretched his arms over his head. 

"Mine!" he said. "Mine, altogether! Oh, my God! At last, I have won theHighest!"

Then he raced down the street to the beach; and five minutes later, inthe full strength of his vigorous manhood, he was swimming up the goldenpath, towards the rising sun. 

CHAPTER XIV

GOLDEN DAYS

The week which followed was one of ideal joy and holiday. Both knew, instinctively, that no after days could ever be quite as these firstdays. They were an experience which came not again, and must be realisedand enjoyed with whole-hearted completeness. 

At first Jim Airth talked with determination of a special licence, andpleaded for no delay. But Lady Ingleby, usually vague to a degree on allquestions of law or matters of business, fortunately felt doubtful as towhether it would be wise to be married in a name other than her own; and, though she might have solved the difficulty by at once revealing heridentity to Jim Airth, she was anxious to choose her own time and placefor this revelation, and had set her heart upon making it amid thesurroundings of her own beautiful home at Shenstone. 

"You see, Jim, " she urged, "I _have_ a few friends in town and atShenstone, who take an interest in my doings; and I could hardly reappearamong them married! Could I, Jim? It would seem such an unusual andunexpected termination to a rest-cure. Wouldn't it, Jim?"

Jim Airth's big laugh brought Miss Susie to the window. It caused sadwaste of Susannah's time, that her window looked out on the honeysucklearbour. 

"It might make quite a run on rest-cures, " said Jim Airth. 

"Ah, but they couldn't all meet _you_, " said Myra; and the look hereceived from those sweet eyes, atoned for the vague inaccuracy of therejoinder. 

So they agreed to have one week of this free untrammelled life, beforereturning to the world of those who knew them; and he promised to comeand see her in her own home, before taking the final steps which shouldmake her altogether his. 

So they went gay walks along the cliffs in the breezy sunshine; and Myra, clinging to Jim's arm, looked down from above upon their ledge. 

They revisited Horseshoe Cove at low water, and Jim Airth spent hourscutting the hurried niches into proper steps, so as to leave a staircaseto the ledge, up which people, who chanced in future to be caught by thetide, might climb to safety. Myra sat on the beach and watched him, hereyes alight with tender memories; but she absolutely refused to mountagain. 

"No, Jim, " she said; "not until we come here on our honeymoon. Then, ifyou wish, you shall take your wife back to the place where we passedthose wonderful hours. But not now. "

Jim, who expected always to have his own way, unless he was givenexcellent reasons in black and white for not having it, was about toexpostulate and insist, when he saw tears on her lashes and a quiver ofthe sweet smiling lips, and gave in at once without further question. 

They hired a tent, and pitched it on the shore at Tregarth, Myratelegraphed for a bathing-dress, and Jim went into the sea in hisflannels and tried to teach her to swim, holding her up beneath her chinand saying; "One, two! ONE, TWO!" far louder than Myra had ever had itsaid to her before. Thus, amid much splashing and laughter, Lady Inglebyaccomplished her swim of ten yards. 

Miss Murgatroyd was shocked; nay, more than shocked. Miss Murgatroyd wasscandalised! She took to her bed forthwith, expecting Miss Eliza and MissSusannah to follow her example--in the spirit, if not to the letter. But, released from Amelia's personal supervision, romantic little Susie ledEliza astray; and the two took a furtive and fearful joy in seeing allthey could of the "goings on" of the couple who had boldly converted theprosaic Cornish hotel into a land of excitement and romance. 

From the moment when on the morning after their adventure, Myra, withyellow roses in the belt of her white gown, had swept into thecoffee-room at five minutes past nine, saying: "My dear Jim, have I keptyou waiting? I hope the coffee is not cold?"--all life had seemedtransformed to Miss Susie. Turning quickly, she had caught the look JimAirth gave to the lovely woman who took her place opposite him at hishitherto lonely table, and, still smiling into his eyes, lifted thecoffee-pot. 

Amelia's stern whisper had recalled her to her senses, and prevented anyfurther glancing round; but she had heard Myra say: "I forgot your sugar, Jim. One lump, or two?" and Jim Airth's reply: "As usual, thanks, dear, "not knowing, that with a silent twinkle of fun, he laid an envelope overhis cup, as a sign to Myra, waiting with poised sugar-tongs, that "asusual" meant no sugar at all!

Later on, when she one day met Lady Ingleby alone in a passage, MissSusannah ventured two hurried questions. 

"Oh, tell me, my dear! Is it _really_ true that you are going to marryMr. Airth? And have you known him long?"

And Myra smiling down into Susie's plump anxious face replied: "Well, asa matter of fact, Miss Susannah, Jim Airth is going to marry _me_. And Icannot explain how long I have known him. I seem to have known him all mylife. "

"Ah, " whispered Miss Susannah with a knowing smile of consciousperspicacity; "Eliza and I felt sure it was a tiff. "

This remark appeared absolutely incomprehensible to Lady Ingleby; and notuntil she had repeated it to Jim, and he had shouted with laughter, andcalled her a bare-faced deceiver, did she realise that the "tiff" wassupposed to have been operative during the whole time she and Jim Airthhad sat at separate tables, and showed no signs of acquaintance. 

However, she smiled kindly into the archly nodding face. Then, in theconsciousness of her own great happiness, enveloped little Susie in herbeautiful arms, and kissed her. 

Miss Susannah never forgot that embrace. It was to her a reflectedrealisation of what it must be to be loved by Jim Airth. And, thereafter, whenever Miss Murgatroyd saw fit to use such adjectives as "indecent, ""questionable, " or "highly improper, " Miss Susie bravely gathered up herwool-work, and left the room. 

Thus the golden days went by, and a letter came for Jim Airth from LadyIngleby's secretary. Her ladyship was away at present but would bereturning to Shenstone on the following Monday, and would be pleased togive him an interview on Tuesday afternoon. The two o'clock express fromCharing Cross would be met at Shenstone station, unless he wrotesuggesting another. 

"Now that is very civil, " said Jim to Myra, as he passed her the letter, "and how well it suits our plans. We had already arranged both to go upto town on Monday, and you on to Shenstone. So I can come down by thattwo o'clock train on Tuesday, get my interview with Lady Ingleby over asquickly as may be, and dash off to my girl at the Lodge. I hope togoodness she won't want to give me tea!"

"Which 'she'?" asked Myra, smiling. "_I_ shall certainly want to give youtea. "

"Then I shall decline Lady Ingleby's, " said Jim with decision. 

Even during those wonderful days he went on steadily with his book, Myrasitting near him in the smoking-room, writing letters or reading, whilehe worked. "I do better work if you are within reach, or at all events, within sight, " Jim had said; and it was impossible that Lady Ingleby'smind should not have contrasted the thrill of pleasure this gave her, with the old sense of being in the way if work was to be done; and ofbeing shut out from the chief interests of Michael's life, by the closingof the laboratory door. Ah, how different from the way in which Jimalready made her a part of himself, enfolding her into his everyinterest. 

She wrote fully of her happiness to Mrs. Dalmain, telling her in detailthe unusual happenings which had brought it so rapidly to pass. Also afew lines to her old friend the Duchess of Meldrum, merely announcing thefact of her engagement and the date of her return to Shenstone, promisingfull particulars later. This letter held also a message for Ronald andBilly, should they chance to be at Overdene. 

Sunday evening, their last at Tregarth, came all too soon. They went tothe little church together, sitting among the simple fisher folk atEvensong. As they looked over one hymn book, and sang "Eternal Father, strong to save, " both thought of "Davy Jones" in the middle of the hymn, and had to exchange a smile; yet with an instant added reverence ofpetition and thanksgiving. 

 "Thus evermore, shall rise to Thee, Glad hymns of praise from land and sea. "

Jim Airth's big bass boomed through the little church; and Myra, close tohis shoulder, sang with a face so radiant that none could doubt thereality of her praise. 

Then back to a cold supper at the Moorhead Inn; after which they strolledout to the honeysuckle arbour for Jim's evening pipe, and a last quiettalk. 

It was then that Jim Airth said, suddenly: "By the way I wish you wouldtell me more about Lady Ingleby. What kind of a woman is she? Easy totalk to?"

For a moment Myra was taken aback. "Why, Jim--I hardly know. Easy? Yes, Ithink _you_ will find her easy to talk to. "

"Does she speak of her husband's death, or is it a tabooed subject?"

"She speaks of it, " said Myra, softly, "to those who can understand. "

"Ah! Do you suppose she will like to hear details of those last days?"

"Possibly; if you feel inclined to give them, Jim--do you know who didit?"

A surprised silence in the arbour. Jim removed his pipe, and looked ather. 

"Do I know--who--did--what?" he asked slowly. 

"Do you know the name of the man who made the mistake which killed LordIngleby?"

Jim returned his pipe to his mouth. 

"Yes, dear, I do, " he said, quietly. "But how came you to know of theblunder? I thought the whole thing was hushed up, at home. "

"It was, " said Myra; "but Lady Ingleby was told, and I heard it then. Jim, if she asked you the name, should you tell her?"

"Certainly I should, " replied Jim Airth. "I was strongly opposed, fromthe first, to any mystery being made about it. I hate a hushing-uppolicy. But there was the fellow's future to consider. The world neverlets a thing of that sort drop. He would always have been pointed out as'The chap who killed Ingleby'--just as if he had done it on purpose; andevery man of us knew that would be a millstone round the neck of anycareer. And then the whole business had been somewhat irregular; and 'thepowers that be' have a way of taking all the kudos, if experiments aresuccessful; and making a what-on-earth-were-you-dreaming-of row, if theychance to be a failure. Hence the fact that we are all suchstick-in-the-muds, in the service. Nobody dares be original. The risksare too great, and too astonishingly unequal. If you succeed, you get aD. S. O. From a grateful government, and a laurel crown from an admiringnation. If you fail, an indignant populace derides your name, and apained and astonished government claps you into jail. That's not the wayto encourage progress, or make fellows prompt to take the initiative. Theright or the wrong of an action should not be determined by its successor failure. "

Lady Ingleby's mind had paused at the beginning of Jim's tirade. 

"They could not have taken Michael's kudos, " she said. "It must have beenpatented. He was always most careful to patent all his inventions. "

"Eh, what?" said Jim Airth. "Oh, I see. 'Kudos, ' my dear girl, means'glory'; not a new kind of explosive. And why do you call Lord Ingleby'Michael'?"

"I knew him intimately, " said Lady Ingleby. 

"I see. Well, as I was saying, I protested about the hushing up, but wastalked over; and the few who knew the facts pledged their word of honourto keep silence. Only, the name was to be given to Lady Ingleby, if shedesired to know it; and some of us thought you might as well put it in_The Times_ at once, as tell a woman. Then we heard she had decided notto know. "

"What do you think of her decision?" asked Lady Ingleby. 

"I think it proved her to be a very just-minded woman, and a very unusualone, if she keeps to it. But it would be rather like a woman, to make afine decision such as that during the tension of a supreme moment, andthen indulge in private speculation afterwards. "

"Did you hear her reason, Jim? She said she did not wish that a manshould walk this earth, whose hand she could not bring herself to touchin friendship. "

"Poor loyal soul!" said Jim Airth, greatly moved. "Myra, if _I_ gotaccidentally done for, as Ingleby was, --should _you_ feel so, for mysake?"

"No!" cried Myra, passionately. "If I lost _you_, my belovèd, I shouldnever want to touch any other man's hand, in friendship or otherwise, aslong as I lived!"

"Ah, " mused Jim Airth. "Then you don't consider Lady Ingleby's reason forher decision proved a love such as ours?"

Myra laid her beautiful head against his shoulder. 

"Jim, " she said, brokenly, "I do not feel myself competent to discuss anyother love. One thing only is clear to me;--I never realised what lovemeant, until I knew _you_. "

A long silence in the honeysuckle arbour. 

Then Jim Airth cried almost fiercely to the woman in his arms: "Can youreally think you have been right to keep me waiting, even for a day?"

And she who loved him with a love beyond expression could frame no wordsin answer to that question. Thus it came to pass that, in the days tocome, it was there, unanswered; ready to return and beat upon her brainwith merciless reiteration: "Was I right to keep him waiting, even for aday. "

 * * * * *

In the hall, beside the marble table, where lay the visitors' book, theypaused to say good-night. From the first, Myra had never allowed him upthe stairs until her door was closed. "If you don't keep the rules Ithink it right to make, Jim, " she had said, with her little tender smile, "I shall, in self-defence, engage Miss Murgatroyd as chaperon; and whatsort of a time would you have then?"

So Jim was pledged to remain below until her door had been shut fiveminutes. After which he used to tramp up the stairs whistling:

 "A long long life, to my sweet wife, And mates at sea; And keep our bones from Davy Jones, Where'er we be. And may you meet a mate as sweet----"

Then his door would bang, and Myra would venture to give vent to hersuppressed laughter, and to sing a soft little

 "Yeo ho! we go!--Yeo ho! Yeo ho!"

for sheer overflowing happiness. 

But this was the last evening. A parting impended. Also there had beentense moments in the honeysuckle arbour. 

Jim's blue eyes were mutinous. He stood holding her hands against hisbreast, as he had done in Horseshoe Cove, when the waves swept roundtheir feet, and he had cried: "You _must_ climb!"

"So to-morrow night, " he said, "you will be at the Lodge, Shenstone; andI, at my Club in town. Do you know how hard it is to be away from you, even for an hour? Do you realise that if you had not been so obstinate wenever need have been parted at all? We could have gone away from here, husband and wife together. If you had really cared, you wouldn't havewanted to wait. "

Myra smiled up into his angry eyes. 

"Jim, " she whispered, "it is _so_ silly to say: '_If_ you had reallycared'; because you know, perfectly well, that I care for you, more thanany woman in the world has ever cared for any man before! And I do assureyou, Jim, that you couldn't have married me _validly_ from here--andthink how awful it would be, to love as much as we love and then find outthat we were not _validly_ married--and when you come to my home, andfetch me away from there, you will admit--yes really _admit_--that I wasright. You will have to apologise humbly for having said 'Bosh!' sooften. Jim--dearest! Look at the clock! I _must_ go. Poor Miss Murgatroydwill grow so tired of listening for us. She always leaves her door acrack open. So does Miss Susannah. They have all taken to sleeping withtheir doors ajar. I deftly led the conversation round to riddlesyesterday, when I was alone with them for a few minutes, and askedsternly: 'When is a door, not a door?' They all answered: 'When it is ajar!' quite unabashed; and Miss Eliza asked another! I believe Susiestands at her crack, in the darkness, in hopes of seeing you march by. .. . No, don't say naughty words. They are dears, all three of them; and weshall miss them horribly to-morrow. Oh, Jim--I've just had such abrilliant idea! I shall ask them to be my bridesmaids! Can't you see themfollowing me up the aisle? It would be worse than the duchess giving Janeaway. Ah, you don't know that story? I will tell it you, some day. Jim, say 'Good-night' quickly, and let me go. "

"Once, " said Jim Airth, tightening his grasp on her wrists--"once, Myra, we said no 'good-night, ' and no 'good-morning. '"

"Jim, darling!" said Myra, gently; "on that night, before I went tosleep, you said to me: 'We are not alone. _God is here_. ' And then yourepeated part of the hundred and thirty-ninth psalm. And, Jim--I thoughtyou the best and strongest man I had ever known; and I felt that, all mylife, I should trust you, as I trusted my God. "

Jim Airth loosed the hands he had held so tightly, and kissed them verygently. "Good-night, my sweetheart, " he said, "and God bless you!" Thenhe turned away to the marble table. 

Myra ran swiftly up the stairs and closed her door. 

Then she knelt beside her bed, and sobbed uncontrollably; partly for joy, and partly for sorrow. The unanswered question commenced its reiteration:"Ah, was I right to keep him waiting?"

Presently she lifted her head, held her breath, and stared into thedarkness. A vision seemed to pass across her room. A tall, bearded man, in evening clothes. In his arms a tiny dog, peeping at her through itscurls, as if to say: "_I_ have the better place. Where do _you_ come in?"The tall man turned at the door. "Good-night, my dear Myra, " he said, kindly. 

The vision passed. 

Lady Ingleby buried her face in the bedclothes. "That--for ten longyears!" she said. Then, in the darkness, she saw the mutinous fire of JimAirth's blue eyes, and felt the grip of his strong hands on hers. "Howcan I say 'Good-night'?" protested his deep voice, passionately. And, with a rush of happy tears, Myra clasped her hands, whispering: "DearGod, am I at last to know the Best?"

And up the stairs came Jim Airth, whistling like a nightingale. But, as aconcession to Miss Murgatroyd's ideas concerning suitable Sabbath music, he discarded "Nancy Lee, " and whistled:

 "Eternal Father, strong to save, Whose arm hath bound the restless wave; Who bidst the mighty ocean deep, Its own appointed limits keep, O hear us, when we cry to Thee----"

And, kneeling beside her bed, in the darkness, Myra made of it herevening prayer. 

CHAPTER XV

"WHERE IS LADY INGLEBY?"

When Jim Airth left the train on the following Tuesday afternoon, helooked eagerly up and down the platform, hoping to see Myra. True, theyhad particularly arranged not to meet, until after his interview withLady Ingleby. But Myra was so charmingly inconsequent and impulsive inher actions. It would be quite like her to reverse the whole plan theyhad made; and, if her desire to see him, in any measure resembled hishuge hunger for a sight of her, he could easily understand such areversal. 

However, Myra was not there; and with a heavy sense of unreasonabledisappointment, Jim Airth chucked his ticket to a waiting porter, passedthrough the little station, and found a smart turn-out, with tandemponies, waiting outside. 

The groom at the leader's head touched his hat. 

"For Shenstone Park, sir?"

"Yes, " said Jim Airth, and climbed in. 

The groom touched his hat again. "Her ladyship said, sir, that perhapsyou might like to drive the ponies yourself, sir. "

"No, thank you, " said Jim Airth, shortly. "I never drive other people'sponies. "

The groom's comprehending grin was immediately suppressed. He touched hishat again; gathered up the reins, mounted the driver's seat, flicked theleader, and the perfectly matched ponies swung at once into a fast trot. 

Jim Airth, a connoisseur in horse-flesh, eyed them with approval. Theyflew along the narrow Surrey lanes, between masses of wild roses andclematis. The villagers were working in the hayfields, shouting gaily toone another as they tossed the hay. It was a matchless June day, in aperfect English summer. 

Jim Airth's disappointment at Myra's non-appearance, was lifting rapidlyin the enjoyment of the drive. After all it was best to adhere to plansonce made; and every step of these jolly little tapping hoofs wasbringing him nearer to the Lodge. Perhaps she would be at the window. (Hehad particularly told her _not_ to be!)

"These ponies have been well handled, " he remarked approvingly to thegroom, as they flew round a bend. 

"Yes, sir, " said the groom, with the inevitable movement towards his hat, whip and hand going up together. "Her ladyship always drives themherself, sir. Fine whip, her ladyship, sir. "

This item of information surprised Jim Airth. Judging by Lord Ingleby'sage and appearance, he had expected to find Lady Ingleby a sedate andstately matron of sixty. It was somewhat surprising to hear of her as afine whip. 

However, he had no time to weigh the matter further. Passing an ivy-cladchurch on the village green, they swung through massive iron gates, ofvery fine design, and entered the stately avenue of Shenstone Park. Tothe left, in a group of trees, stood a pretty little gabled house. 

"What house is that?" asked Jim Airth, quickly. 

"The Lodge, sir. "

"Who lives there?"

"Mrs. O'Mara, sir. "

"Has Mrs. O'Mara returned?"

"I don't know, sir. She was up at the house with her ladyship thismorning. "

"Then she _has_ returned, " said Jim Airth. 

The groom looked perplexed, but made no comment. 

Jim Airth turned in his seat, and looked back at the Lodge. It was a farsmaller house than he had expected. This fact did not seem to depresshim. He smiled to himself, as at some thought which gave him amusementand pleasure. While he still looked back, a side door opened; a neatlydressed woman in black, apparently a superior lady's-maid, appeared onthe doorstep, shook out a white table-cloth, and re-entered the house. 

They flew on up the avenue, Jim Airth noting every tree with appreciationand pleasure. The fine old house came into view, and a moment later theydrew up at the entrance. 

"Good driving, " remarked Jim Airth approvingly, as he tipped the littlegroom. Then he turned, to find the great doors already standing wide, anda stately butler, with immense black eyebrows, waiting to receive him. 

"Will you come to her ladyship's sitting-room, sir?" said the butler, andled the way. 

Jim Airth entered a charmingly appointed room, and looked around. 

It was empty. 

"Kindly wait here, sir, while I acquaint her ladyship with your arrival, "said the pompous person with the eyebrows, and went out noiselessly, closing the door behind him. 

Left alone, Jim Airth commenced taking rapid note of the room, hoping togain therefrom some ideas as to the tastes and character of itspossessor. But almost immediately his attention was arrested by alife-size portrait of Lord Ingleby, hanging above the mantelpiece. 

Jim Airth walked over to the hearthrug, and stood long, looking withsilent intentness at the picture. 

"Excellent, " he said to himself, at last. "Extraordinarily clever. Thatchap shall paint Myra, if I can lay hands on him. What a jolly littledog! And what devotion! Mutual and absorbing. I suppose that is Peter. Queer to think that I should have been the last to hear him callingPeter. I wonder whether Lady Ingleby liked Peter. If not, I doubt if shewould have had much of a look-in. If anyone went to the wall it certainlywasn't Peter. "

He was still absorbed in the picture, when the butler returned with along message, solemnly delivered. 

"Her ladyship is out in the grounds, sir. As it is so warm in the house, sir, her ladyship requests that you come to her in the grounds. If youwill allow me, sir, I will show you the way. "

Jim Airth restrained an inclination to say: "Buck up!" and followed thebutler along a corridor, down a wide staircase to a lower hall. Theystepped out on to a terrace running the full length of the house. Belowit, an old-fashioned garden, with box borders, bright flower beds, afountain in the centre. Beyond this a smooth lawn, sloping down to abeautiful lake, which sparkled and gleamed in the afternoon sunshine. Onthis lawn, well to the right, half-way between the house and the water, stood a group of beeches. Beneath their spreading boughs, in the coolinviting shadow, were some garden chairs. Jim Airth could just discern, in one of these, the white gown of a woman, holding a scarlet parasol. 

The butler indicated this clump of trees. 

"Her ladyship said, sir, that she would await you under the beeches. "

He returned to the house, and Jim Airth was left to make his way alone toLady Ingleby, guided by the gleam among the trees of her brilliantparasol. Even at that moment it gave him pleasure to find Lady Ingleby'staste in sunshades, resembling Myra's. 

He stood for a minute on the terrace, taking in the matchless beauty ofthe place. Then his face grew sad and stern. "What a home to leave, " hesaid; "and to leave it, never to return!"

He still wore a look of sadness as he descended the steps leading to theflower garden, made his way along the narrow gravel paths; then steppedon to the soft turf of the lawn, and walked towards the clump ofbeeches. 

Jim Airth--tall and soldierly, broad-shouldered and erect--might havemade an excellent impression upon Lady Ingleby, had she watched hiscoming. But she kept her parasol between herself and her approachingguest. 

In fact he drew quite near; near enough to distinguish the ripples ofsoft lace about, her feet, the long graceful sweep of her gown; and stillshe seemed unconscious of his close proximity. 

He passed beneath the beeches and stood before her. And, even then, theparasol concealed her face. 

But Jim Airth was never at a loss, when sure of his ground. "LadyIngleby, " he said, with grave formality; "I was told to----"

Then the parasol was flung aside, and he found himself looking down intothe lovely laughing eyes of Myra. 

To see Jim Airth's face change from its look of formal gravity to one ofrapturous delight, was to Myra well worth the long effort of sittingimmovable. He flung himself down before her with boyish abandon, andclasped both herself and her chair in his long arms. 

"Oh, you darling!" he said, bending his face over hers, while his blueeyes danced with delight. "Oh, Myra, what centuries since yesterday! HowI have longed for you. I almost hoped you would after all have come tothe station. How I have grudged wasting all this time in coming to callon old Lady Ingleby. Myra, has it seemed long to you? Do you realise, mydear girl, that it _can't_ go on any longer; that we cannot possibly livethrough another twenty-four hours of separation? But oh, you Tease! Therewas I, ramping with impatience at every wasted moment; and here were you, sitting under this tree, hiding your face and pretending to be LadyIngleby! The astonished and astonishing old party in the eyebrows, certainly pointed you out as Lady Ingleby when he started me off on mypilgrimage. I say, how lovely you look! What billowy softness! Itwouldn't do for cliff-climbing; but its A. I. For sitting on lawns. .. . Ican't help it! I must!"

"Jim, " said Myra, laughing and pushing him away; "what has come to you, you dearest old boy? You will really have to behave! We are not in thehoneysuckle arbour. 'The astonishing old party in the eyebrows' is mostlikely observing us from a window, and will have good cause to lookastonished, if he sees you 'carrying on' in such a manner. Jim, how niceyou look in your town clothes. I always like a grey frock-coat. Stand up, and let me see. .. . Oh, look at the green of the turf on those immaculateknees! What a pity. Did you don all this finery for me?"

"Of course not, silly!" said Jim Airth, rubbing his knees vigorously. "When I haul you up cliffs, I wear old Norfolk coats; and when I duck youin the sea, I wear flannels. I considered this the correct attire inwhich to pay a formal call on Lady Ingleby; and now, before she has had achance of being duly impressed by it, I have spoilt my knees hopelessly, worshipping at your shrine! Where is Lady Ingleby? Why doesn't she keepher appointments?"

"Jim, " said Myra, looking up at him with eyes full of unspeakable love, yet dancing with excitement and delight; "Jim, do you admire thisplace?"

"This place?" cried Jim, stepping back a pace, so as to command a goodview of the lake and woods beyond. "It is absolutely perfect. We havenothing like this in Scotland. You can't beat for all round beauty a realold mellow lived-in English country seat; especially when you get atwenty acre lake, with islands and swans, all complete. And I suppose thewoods beyond, as far as one can see, belong to the Inglebys--or rather, to Lady Ingleby. What a pity there is no son. "

"Jim, " said Myra, "I have so looked forward to showing you my home. "

He stepped close to her at once. "Then show it to me, dear, " he said. "Iwould rather be alone with you in your own little home--I saw it, as wedrove up--than waiting about, in this vast expanse of beauty, for LadyIngleby. "

"Jim, " said Myra, "do you remember a little tune I often hummed down inCornwall; and, when you asked me what it was, I said you should hear thewords some day?"

Jim looked puzzled. "Really dear--you hummed so many little tunes----"

"Oh, I know, " said Myra; "and I have not much ear. But this was veryspecial. I want to sing it to you now. Listen!"

And looking up at him, her soft eyes full of love, Myra sang, with slightalterations of her own, the last verse of the old Scotch ballad, "Huntingtower. "

 "Blair in Athol's mine, Jamie, Fair Dunkeld is mine, laddie; Saint Johnstown's bower, And Huntingtower, And all that's mine, is thine, laddie. "

"Very pretty, " said Jim, "but you've mixed it, my dear. Jamie bestowedall his possessions on the lassie. You sang it the wrong way round. "

"No, no, " cried Myra, eagerly. "There _is_ no wrong way round. Providingthey both love, it does not really matter which gives. The one whohappens to possess, bestows. If you were a cowboy, Jim, and you loved awoman with lands and houses, in taking her, you would take all that washers. "

"I guess I'd take her out to my ranch and teach her to milk cows, "laughed Jim Airth. Then turning about under the tree and looking in alldirections: "But seriously, Myra, where is Lady Ingleby? She should keepher appointments. We cannot waste our whole afternoon waiting here. Iwant my girl; and I want her in her own little home, alone. Cannot wefind Lady Ingleby?"

Then Myra rose, radiant, and came and stood before him. The sunbeamsshone through the beech leaves and danced in her grey eyes. She had neverlooked more perfect in her sweet loveliness. The man took it all in, andthe glory of possession lighted his handsome face. 

She came and stood before him, laying her hands upon his breast. Hewrapped his arms lightly about her. He saw she had something to say; andhe waited. 

"Jim, " said Myra, "Jim, dearest. There is just one name I want to bear, more than any other. There is just one thing I long to be. Then Ishall be content. I want to have the right to be called 'Mrs. JimAirth. ' I want more than all else beside, to be your wife. But--untilI am that; and may it be very soon! until you make me 'Mrs. JimAirth'--dearest--_I_--am Lady Ingleby. "

CHAPTER XVI

UNDER THE BEECHES AT SHENSTONE

Jim Airth's arms fell slowly to his sides. He still looked into thosehappy, loving eyes, but the joy in his own died out, leaving them merelycold blue steel. His face slowly whitened, hardened, froze into lines ofsilent misery. Then he moved back a step, and Myra's hands fell fromhim. 

"_You_--'Lady Ingleby'?" he said. 

Myra gazed at him, in unspeakable dismay. 

"Jim!" she cried, "Jim, dearest! Why should you mind it so much?"

She moved forward, and tried to take his hand. 

"Don't touch me!" he said, sharply. Then: "_You_, Myra? You! LordIngleby's widow?"

The furious misery of his voice stung Myra. Why should he resent thenoble name she bore, the high rank which was hers? Even if it placed hersocially far above him, had she not just expressed her readiness--herlonging--to resign all, for him? Had not her love already placed him onthe topmost pinnacle of her regard? Was it generous, was it worthy of JimAirth to take her disclosure thus?

She moved towards the chairs, with gentle dignity. 

"Let us sit down, Jim, and talk it over, " she said, quietly. "I do notthink you need find it so overwhelming a matter as you seem to imagine. Let me tell you all about it; or rather, suppose you ask me any questionsyou like. "

Jim Airth sat blindly down upon the chair farthest from her, put hiselbows on his knees, and sank his face into his hands. 

Without any comment, Myra rose; moved her chair close enough to enableher to lay her hand upon his arm, should she wish to do so; sat downagain, and waited in silence. 

Jim Airth had but one question to ask. He asked it, without lifting hishead. 

"Who is Mrs. O'Mara?"

"She is the widow of Sergeant O'Mara who fell at Targai. We both lost ourhusbands in that disaster, Jim. She had been for many years mymaid-attendant. When she married the sergeant, a fine soldier whomMichael held in high esteem, I wished still to keep her near me. Michaelhad given me the Lodge to do with as I pleased. I put them into it. Shelives there still. Oh, Jim dearest, try to realise that I have not saidone word to you which was not completely truthful! Let me explain how Icame to be in Cornwall under her name instead of my own. If I might putmy hand in yours, Jim, I could tell you more easily. .. . No? Very well;never mind. 

"After I received the telegram last November telling me of my husband'sdeath, I had a very bad nervous breakdown. I do not think it was causedso much by my loss, as by a prolonged mental strain, which had precededit. Just as I had moved to town and was getting better, full detailsarrived, and I had to be told that it had been an accident. You know allabout the question as to whether I should hear the name or not. You alsoknow my decision. The worry of this threw me back. What you said in thearbour was perfectly true. I _am_ a woman, Jim; often, a weak one; and Iwas very much alone. I decided rightly, in a supreme moment--possibly youmay know who it was who graciously undertook to bring me the news fromthe War Office--but, afterwards, I began to wonder; I allowed myself toguess. Men from the front came home. My surmisings circled ceaselesslyaround two--dear fellows, of whom I was really fond. At last I feltconvinced I knew, by intangible yet unmistakable signs, which was he whohad done it. I grew quite sure. And then--I hardly know how to tell you, Jim--of all impossible horrors! The man who had killed Michael wanted tomarry _me_!--Oh, don't groan, darling; you make me so unhappy! But I donot wonder you find it difficult to believe. He cared very much, poorboy; and I suppose he thought that, as I should remain in ignorance, the_fact_ need not matter. It seems hard to understand; but a man in lovesometimes loses all sense of proportion--at least so I once heard someonesay; or words to that effect. I did not allow it ever to reach the pointof an actual proposal; but I felt I must flee away. There wereothers--and it was terrible to me. I loved none of them; and I had madeup my mind never to marry again unless I found my ideal. Oh, Jim!"

She laid her hand upon his knee. It might have been a falling leaf, forall the sign he gave. She left it there, and went on speaking. 

"People gossiped. Society papers contained constant trying paragraphs. Even my widow's weeds were sketched and copied. My nerves grew worse. Life seemed unendurable. 

"At last I consulted a great specialist, who is also a trusted friend. Heordered me a rest-cure. Not to be shut up within four walls with my ownworries, but to go right away alone; to leave my own identity, and allappertaining thereto, completely behind; to go to a place to which I hadnever before been, where I knew no one, and should not be known; to livein the open air; fare simply; rise early, retire early; but, above all, as he quaintly said: 'Leave Lady Ingleby behind. '

"I followed his advice to the letter. He is not a man one can disobey. Idid not like the idea of taking a fictitious name, so I decided to be'Mrs. O'Mara, ' and naturally entered her address in the visitors' book, as well as her name. 

"Oh, that evening of arrival! You were quite right, Jim. I felt just ahappy child, entering a new world of beauty and delight--all holiday andrest. 

"And then--I saw you! And, oh my belovèd, I think almost from the firstmoment my soul flew to you, as to its unquestioned mate! Your vitalitybecame my source of vigour; your strength filled and upheld everything inme which had been weak and faltering. I owed you much, before we hadreally spoken. Afterwards, I owed you life itself, and love, andall--ALL, Jim!"

Myra paused, silently controlling her emotion; then, bending forward, laid her lips upon the roughness of his hair. It might have been thestirring of the breeze, for all the sign he made. 

"When I found at first that you had come from the war, when I realisedthat you must have known Michael, I praised the doctor's wisdom in makingme drop my own name. Also the Murgatroyds would have known itimmediately, and I should have had no peace, As it was, Miss Murgatroydoccasionally held forth in the sitting-room concerning 'poor dear LadyIngleby, ' whom she gave us to understand she knew intimately. Andthen--oh, Jim! when I came to know my cosmopolitan cowboy; when he toldme he hated titles and all that appertained to them; then indeed Iblessed the moment when I had writ myself down plain 'Mrs. O'Mara'; and Iresolved not to tell him of my title until he loved me enough not to mindit, or wanted me enough, to change me at once from Lady Ingleby ofShenstone Park, into plain Mrs. Jim Airth of--anywhere he chooses to takeme!

"Now you will understand why I felt I could not marry you validly inCornwall; and I wanted--was it selfish?--I wanted the joy of revealing myown identity when I had you, at last, in my own beautiful home. Oh, mydear--my dear! Cannot our love stand the test of so light a thing asthis?"

She ceased speaking and waited. 

She was sure of her victory; but it seemed strange, in dealing with sofine a nature as that of the man she loved, that she should have had tofight so hard over what appeared to her a paltry matter. But she knewfalse pride often rose gigantic about the smallest things; the veryunworthiness of the cause seeming to add to the unreasonable growth ofits dimensions. 

She was deeply hurt; but she was a woman, and she loved him. She waitedpatiently to see his love for her arise victorious over unworthy pride. 

At last Jim Airth stood up. 

"I cannot face it yet, " he said, slowly. "I must be alone. I ought tohave known from the very first that you were--are--Lady Ingleby. I amvery sorry that you should have to suffer for that which is no fault ofyour own. I must--go--now. In twenty-four hours, I will come back to talkit over. "

He turned, without another word; without a touch; without a look. Heswung round on his heel, and walked away across the lawn. 

Myra's dismayed eyes could scarcely follow him. 

He mounted the terrace; passed into the house. A door closed. 

Jim Airth was gone!

CHAPTER XVII

"SURELY YOU KNEW?"

Myra Ingleby rose and wended her way slowly towards the house. 

A stranger meeting her would probably have noticed nothing amiss with thetall graceful woman, whose pallor might well have been due to the unusualwarmth of the day. 

But the heart within her was dying. 

Her joy had received a mortal wound. The man she adored, with a lovewhich had placed him at the highest, was slowly slipping from hispedestal, and her hands were powerless to keep him there. 

A woman may drag her own pride in the dust, and survive the process; butwhen the man she loves falls, then indeed her heart dies within her. 

She had loved to call Jim Airth a cowboy. She knew him to be avowedlycosmopolitan. But was he also a slave to vulgar pride? Being plain JimAirth himself, did he grudge noble birth and ancient lineage to those towhom they rightfully belonged? Professing to scorn titles, did he reallyset upon them so exaggerated a value, that he would turn from the womanhe was about to wed, merely because she owned a title, while he hadnone?

Myra, entering the house, passed to her sitting-room. Green awningsshaded the windows. The fireplace was banked with ferns and lilies. Bowlsof roses stood about; while here and there pots of growing freesiaspoured their delicate fragrance around. 

Myra crossed to the hearthrug and stood gazing up at the picture of LordIngleby. The gentle refinement of the scholarly face seemed accentuatedby the dim light. Lady Ingleby dwelt in memory upon the consistentcourtesy of the dead man's manner; his unfailing friendliness andequability to all; courteous to men of higher rank, considerate to thoseof lower; genial to rich and poor alike. 

"Oh, Michael, " she whispered, "have I been unfaithful? Have I forgottenhow good you were?"

But still her heart died within her. The man who had stalked across thelawn, leaving her without a touch or look, held it in the hollow of hishand. 

A dog-cart clattered up to the portico. Men's voices sounded in the hall. Tramping feet hurried along the corridor. Then Billy's excited youngvoice cried, "May we come in?" followed by Ronnie's deeper tones, "If weshall not be in the way?" The next moment she was grasping a hand ofeach. 

"You dear boys!" she said. "I have never been more glad to see you! Dosit down; or have you come to play tennis?"

"We have come to see _you_, dear Queen, " said Billy. "We are staying atOverdene. The duchess had your letter. She told us the great news; also, that you were returning yesterday. So we came over to--to----"

"To congratulate, " said Ronald Ingram; and he said it heartily andbravely. 

"Thank you, " said Myra, smiling at them, but her sweet voice wastremulous. These first congratulations, coming just now, were almost morethan she could bear. Then, with characteristic simplicity andstraightforwardness, she told these old friends the truth. 

"You dear boys! It is quite sweet of you to come over; and an hour ago, you would have found me radiant. There cannot have been a happier womanin the whole world than I. But, you know, I met him, and we becameengaged, while I was doing my very original rest-cure, which consistedchiefly in being Mrs. O'Mara, to all intents and purposes, instead ofmyself. This afternoon he knows for the first time that I am Lady Inglebyof Shenstone. And, boys, the shock has been too much for him. He is sucha splendid man; but a dear delightful cowboy sort of person. He has liveda great deal abroad, and been everything you can imagine that bestrides ahorse and does brave things. He finished up at your horrid little war, and got fever at Targai. You must have known him. He calls it 'a muddleon the frontier, ' and now he is writing a book about it, and about othermuddles, and how to avoid them. But he has a quite eccentric dislike totitles and big properties; so he has shied really badly at mine. He hasgone off to 'face it out' alone. Hence you find me sad instead of gay. "

Billy looked at Ronnie, telegraphing: "Is it? It must be! Shall we tellher?"

Ronnie telegraphed back: "It is! It can be no other. _You_ tell her. "

Lady Ingleby became aware of these crosscurrents. 

"What is it, boys?" she said, "Dear Queen, " cried Billy, with hardly suppressed excitement; "may we askthe cowboy person's name?"

"Jim Airth, " replied Lady Ingleby, a sudden rush of colour flooding herpale cheeks. 

"In that case, " said Billy, "he is the chap we met tearing along to therailway station, as if all the furies were loose at his heels. He lookedneither to the right nor to the left, nor, for that matter, in front ofhim; and our dog-cart had to take to the path! So he did not see two oldcomrades, nor did he hear their hail. But he cannot possibly have beenfleeing from your title, dear lady, and hardly from your property; seeingthat his own title is about the oldest known in Scottish history; whilemile after mile of moor and stream and forest belong to him. Surely youknew that the fellow who called himself 'Jim Airth' when out ranching inthe West, and still keeps it as his _nom-de-plume_, is--when athome--James, Earl of Airth and Monteith, and a few other names I haveforgotten;--the finest old title in Scotland!"

CHAPTER XVIII

WHAT BILLY HAD TO TELL

"Did you bring your rackets, boys?" Lady Ingleby had said, with fineself-control; adding, when they admitted rackets left in the hall, "Ah, Iam glad you never can resist the chestnut court. It seems ages since Isaw you two fight out a single. Do go on and begin. I will order tea outthere in half an hour, and follow you. "

Then she escaped to the terrace, flew across garden and lawn, and soughtthe shelter of the beeches. Arrived there, she sank into the chair inwhich Jim Airth had sat so immovable, and covered her face with hertrembling fingers. 

"Oh, Jim, Jim!" she sobbed. "My darling, how grievously I wronged you! Myking among men! How I misjudged you! Imputing to you thoughts of whichyou, in your noble large-heartedness, would scarcely know the meaning. Oh, my dear, forgive me! And oh, come to me through this darkness andexplain what I have done wrong; explain what it is you have to face; tellme what has come between us. For indeed, if you leave me, I shall die. "

Myra now felt certain that the fault was hers; and she suffered less thanwhen she had thought it his. Yet she was sorely perplexed. For, if theEarl of Airth and Monteith might write himself down "Jim Airth" in theMoorhead Inn visitors' book, and be blameless, why might not Lady Inglebyof Shenstone take an equally simple name, without committing anunpardonable offence?

Myra pondered, wept, and reasoned round in a circle, growing more andmore bewildered and perplexed. 

But by-and-by she went indoors and tried to remove all traces of recenttears. She must not let her sorrow make her selfish. Ronald and Billywould be wanting tea, and expecting her to join them. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile the two friends, their rackets under their arms, had strolledthrough the shrubbery at the front of the house, to the beautiful tennislawns, long renowned as being the most perfect in the neighbourhood. Manya tournament had there been fought out, in presence of a gay crowd, lining the courts, beneath the shady chestnut trees. 

But on this day the place seemed sad and deserted. They played one set, in silence, hardly troubling to score; then walked to the net and stoodclose together, one on either side. 

"We must tell her, " said Ronald, examining his racket, minutely. 

"I suppose we must, " agreed Billy, reluctantly. "We could not let hermarry him. "

"Duffer! you don't suppose he would dream of marrying her? He will comeback, and tell her himself to-morrow. We must tell her, to spare her thatinterview. She need never see him again. "

"I say, Ron! Did you see her go quite pink when she told us his name? Andin spite of the trouble to-day, she looks half a dozen years younger thanwhen she went away. You know she does, old man!"

"Oh, that's the rest-cure, " explained Ronnie, but without muchconviction. "Rest-cures always have that effect. That's why women go infor them. Did you ever hear of a man doing a rest-cure?"

"Well, I've heard of _you_, at Overdene, " said Billy, maliciously. 

"Rot! You don't call staying with the duchess a rest-cure? Good heavens, man! You get about the liveliest time of your life when her Grace ofMeldrum undertakes to nurse you. Did you hear about old Pilberry theparson, and the toucan?"

"Yes, shut up. You've told me that unholy story twice already. I say, Ronnie! We are begging the question. Who's to tell her?"

"You, " said Ronald decidedly. "She cares for you like a mother, and willtake it more easily from you. Then I can step in, later on, with--er--_manly_ comfort. "

"Confound you!" said Billy, highly indignant. "I'm not such a kid as youmake out. But I'll tell you this:--If I thought it would be for her realhappiness, and could be pulled through, I would tell her I did it; thenfind Airth to-morrow and tell him I had told her so. "

"Ass!" said Ronnie, affectionately. "As if that could mend matters. Don'tyou know the earl? He was against the hushing-up business from the first. He would simply punch your head for daring to lie to her, and go and tellher the exact truth himself. Besides, at this moment, he is thinking moreof his side of the question, than of hers. We fellows have a way of doingthat. If he had thought first of her, he would have stayed with her andseen her through, instead of rushing off like this, leaving herheart-broken and perplexed. "

"Confound him!" said Billy, earnestly. 

"I say, Billy! You know women. " It was the first time Ronnie had admittedthis. "Don't you think--if a woman turned in horror from a man she hadloved, she might--if he were tactfully on the spot--turn _to_ a man whohad long loved her, and of whom she had undoubtedly been fond?"

"My knowledge of women, " declaimed Billy, dramatically, "leads me to hopethat she would fall into the arms of the man who loved her well enough torisk incurring her displeasure by bravely telling her himself that whichshe ought----"

"Confound you!" whispered Ronnie, who had glanced past Billy, "Shutup!--The meshes of this net are better than the other, and the new patentsockets undoubtedly keep it----"

"You patient people!" said Lady Ingleby's voice, just behind Billy. "Don't you badly need tea?"

"We were admiring the new net, " said Ronald Ingram, frowning at Billy, who with his back to Lady Ingleby, continued admiring the new net, helplessly speechless!

There were brave attempts at merriment during tea. Ronald told all thelatest Overdene stories; then described the annual concert which had justtaken place. 

"Mrs. Dalmain was there, and sang divinely. She sings her husband'ssongs; he accompanies her. It is awfully fine to see the light on hisblind face as he listens, while her glorious voice comes pouring forth. When the song is over, he gets up from the piano, gives her his arm, andapparently leads her off. Very few people realise that, as a matter offact, she is guiding him. She gave, as an encore, a jolly little newthing of his--quite simple--but everybody wanted it twice over; an airlike summer wind blowing through a pine wood, with an accompaniment likea blackbird whistling; words something about 'On God's fair earth, 'midblossoms blue'--I forget the rest. Go ahead, Bill!"

 "There is no room for sad despair, When heaven's love is everywhere. "

quoted Billy, who had an excellent memory. 

Myra rose, hastily. "I must go in, " she said. "But play as long as youlike. "

Billy walked beside her towards the shrubbery. "May I come in and seeyou, presently, dear Queen? There is something I want to say. "

"Come when you will, Billy-boy, " said Lady Ingleby, with a smile. "Youwill find me in my sitting-room. "

And Billy looked furtively at Ronald, hoping he had not seen. Words andsmile undoubtedly partook of the maternal!

 * * * * *

It was a very grave-faced young man who, half an hour later, appeared inLady Ingleby's sitting-room, closing the door carefully behind him. LadyIngleby knew at once that he had come on some matter which, at all eventsto himself, appeared of paramount importance. Billy's days of youthfulescapades were over. This must be something more serious. 

She rose from her davenport and came to the sofa. "Sit down, Billy, " shesaid, indicating an armchair opposite--Lord Ingleby's chair, and littlePeter's. Both had now left it empty. Billy filled it readily, unconsciousof its associations. 

"Rippin' flowers, " remarked Billy, looking round the room. 

"Yes, " said Lady Ingleby. She devoutly hoped Billy was not going topropose. 

"Jolly room, " said Billy; "at least, I always think so. "

"Yes, " said Lady Ingleby. "So do I. "

Billy's eyes, roaming anxiously around for fresh inspiration, lighted onthe portrait over the mantelpiece. He started and paled. Then he knew hishour had come. There must be no more beating about the bush. 

Billy was a soldier, and a brave one. He had led a charge once, runningup a hill ahead of his men, in face of a perfect hail of bullets. Firstcame Billy; then the battalion. Not a man could keep within fifty yardsof him. They always said afterwards that Billy came through that chargealive, because he sprinted so fast, that no bullets could touch him. Herushed at the subject now, with the same headlong courage. 

"Lady Ingleby, " he said, "there is something Ronnie and I both think youought to know. "

"Is there, Billy?" said Myra. "Then suppose you tell it me. "

"We have sworn not to tell, " continued Billy; "but I don't care a damn--Imean a pin--for an oath, if _your_ happiness is at stake. "

"You must not break an oath, Billy, even for my sake, " said Myra, gently. 

"Well, you see--_if you wished it_, you were to be the one exception. "

Suddenly Lady Ingleby understood. "Oh, Billy!" she said. "Does Ronaldwish me to be told?"

This gave Billy a pang. So Ronnie really counted after all, and wouldwalk in--over the broken hearts of Billy and another--in rôle of manlycomforter. It was hard; but, loyally, Billy made answer. 

"Yes; Ronnie says it is only right; and I think so too. I've come to doit, if you will let me. "

Lady Ingleby sat, with clasped hands, considering. After all, what did itmatter? What did anything matter, compared to the trouble with Jim?

She looked up at the portrait; but Michael's pictured face, intent onlittle Peter, gave her no sign. 

If these boys wished to tell her, and get it off their minds, why shouldshe not know? It would put a stop, once for all, to Ronnie's tragiclove-making. 

"Yes, Billy, " she said. "You may as well tell me. "

The room was very still. A rosebud tapped twice against the window-pane. It might have been a warning finger. Neither noticed it. It tapped athird time. 

Billy cleared his throat, and swallowed, quickly. 

Then he spoke. 

"The man who made the blunder, " he said, "and fired the mine too soon;the man who killed Lord Ingleby, by mistake, was the chap you call 'JimAirth. '"

CHAPTER XIX

JIM AIRTH DECIDES

Lady Ingleby awaited Jim Airth's arrival, in her sitting-room. 

As the hour drew near, she rang the bell. 

"Groatley, " she said, when the butler appeared, "the Earl of Airth, whowas here yesterday, will call again, this afternoon. When his lordshipcomes, you can show him in here. I shall not be at home to any one else. You need not bring tea until I ring for it. "

Then she sat down, quietly waiting. 

She had resumed the mourning, temporarily laid aside. The black gown, hanging about her in soft trailing folds, added to the graceful height ofher slight figure. The white tokens of widowhood at neck and wrists gaveto her unusual beauty a pathetic suggestion of wistful loneliness. Herface was very pale; a purple tint beneath the tired eyes betokened tearsand sleeplessness. But the calm steadfast look in those sweet eyesrevealed a mind free of all doubt; a heart, completely at rest. 

She leaned back among the sofa cushions, her hands folded in her lap, andwaited. 

Bees hummed in and out of the open windows. The scent of freesias filledthe room, delicate, piercingly sweet, yet not oppressive. To one manforever afterwards the scent of freesias recalled that afternoon; theexquisite sweetness of that lovely face; the trailing softness of herwidow's gown. 

Steps in the hall. 

The door opened. Groatley's voice, pompously sonorous, broke into thewaiting silence. 

"The Earl of Airth, m'lady"; and Jim Airth walked in. 

As the door closed behind him, Myra rose. 

They stood, silently confronting one another beneath Lord Ingleby'spicture. 

It almost seemed as though the thoughtful scholarly face must turn fromits absorbed contemplation of the little dog, to look down for a momentupon them. They presented a psychological problem--these brave hearts intorment--which would surely have proved interesting to the calm studentof metaphysics. 

Silently they faced one another for the space of a dozen heart-beats. 

Then Myra, with a swift movement, went up to Jim Airth, put her armsabout his neck, and laid her head upon his breast. 

"I _know_, my belovèd, " she said. "You need not give yourself the pain oftrying to tell me. "

"How?" A single syllable seemed the most Jim's lips, for the moment, could manage. 

"Billy told me. He and Ronald Ingram came over yesterday afternoon, soonafter you left. They had passed you, on your way to the station. Theythought I ought to know. So Billy told me. "

Jim Airth's arms closed round her, holding her tightly. 

"My--poor--girl!" he said, brokenly. 

"They meant well, Jim. They are dear boys. They knew you would come backand tell me yourself; and they wanted to spare us both that pain. I amglad they did it. You were quite right when you said it had to be facedalone. I could not have been ready for your return, if I had not heardthe truth, and had time to face it alone. I _am_ ready now, Jim. "

Jim Airth laid his cheek against her soft hair, with a groan. 

"I have come to say good-bye, Myra. It is all that remains to be said. "

"Good-bye?" Myra raised a face of terrified questioning. 

Jim Airth pressed it back to its hiding-place upon his breast. 

"I am the man, Myra, whose hand you could never bring yourself to touchin friendship. "

Myra lifted her head again. The look in her eyes was that of a womanprepared to fight for happiness and life. 

"You are the man, " she said, "whose little finger is dearer to me thanthe whole body of any one else has ever been. Do you suppose I will giveyou up, Jim, because of a thing which happened accidentally in the past, before you and I had ever met? Ah, how little you men understand awoman's heart! Shall I tell you what I felt when Billy told me, after thefirst bewildering shock was over? First: sorrow for you, my dearest; arealisation of how appalling the mental anguish must have been, at thetime. Secondly: thankfulness--yes, intense overwhelming thankfulness--toknow at last what had come between us; and to know it was thisthing--this mere ghost out of the past--nothing tangible or real; nowrong of mine against you, or of yours against me; nothing which needdivide us. "

Jim Airth slowly unlocked his arms, took her by the wrists, holding herhands against his breast. Then he looked into her eyes with a silentsadness, more forcible than speech. 

"My own poor girl, " he said, at length; "it is impossible for me to marryLord Ingleby's widow. "

The strength of his will mastered hers; and, just as in Horseshoe Coveher fears had yielded to his dauntless courage, so now Myra felt herconfidence ebbing away before his stern resolve. Fearful of losing italtogether, she drew away her hands, and turned to the sofa. 

"Oh, Jim, " she said, "sit down and let us talk it over. "

She sank back among the cushions and drawing a bowl of roses hastilytoward her, buried her face in them, fearing again to meet the settledsadness of his eyes. 

Jim Airth sat down--in the chair left vacant by Lord Ingleby and Peter. 

"Listen, dear, " he said. "I need not ask you never to doubt my love. Thatwould be absurd from me to you. I love you as I did not know it waspossible for a man to love a woman. I love you in such a way that everyfibre of my being will hunger for you night and day--through all theyears to come. But--well, it would always have come hard to me to standin another man's shoes, and take what had been his. I did not feel thiswhen I thought I was following Sergeant O'Mara, because I knew he mustalways have been in all things so utterly apart from you. I could, underdifferent circumstances, have brought myself to follow Ingleby, because Irealise that he never awakened in you such love as is yours for me. Hispossessions would not have weighted me, because it so happens I havelands and houses of my own, where we could have lived. But, to stand in adead man's shoes, when he is dead through an act of mine; to take tomyself another man's widow, when she would still, but for a recklessmovement of my own right hand, have been a wife--Myra, I could not do it!Even with our great love, it would not mean happiness. Think ofit--think! As we stood together in the sight of God, while the Church, insolemn voice, required and charged us both, as we should answer at thedreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts should bedisclosed, that if either of us knew any impediment why we might not belawfully joined together in matrimony, we should then confess it--Ishould cry: 'Her husband died by my hand!' and leave the church, with thebrand of Cain, and the infamy of David, upon me. "

Myra lifted frightened eyes; met his, beseechingly; then bent again overthe roses. 

"Or, even if I passed through that ordeal, standing mute in the solemnsilence, what of the moment when the Church bade me take your right handin my right hand--Myra, _my_ right hand?"

She rose, came swiftly over, and knelt before him. She took his hand, andcovered it with tears and kisses. She held it, sobbing, to her heart. 

"Dearest, " she said, "I will never ask you to do, for my sake, anythingyou feel impossible or wrong. But, oh, in this, I know you are mistaken. I cannot argue or explain. I cannot put my reasons into words. But I_know_ our living, longing, love _ought_ to come before the happenings ofa dead past. Michael lost his life through an accident. That the accidentwas caused by a mistake on your part, is fearfully hard for you. Butthere is no moral wrong in it. You might as well blame the company whoseboat took him abroad; or the government which decided on the expedition;or the War Office people, who accepted him when he volunteered. I am sureI don't know what David did; I thought he was a quite excellent person. But I _do_ know about Cain; and I am perfectly certain that the brand ofCain could never rest on anyone, because of an unpremeditated accident. Oh, Jim! Cannot you look at it reasonably?"

"I looked at it reasonably--after a while--until yesterday, " said JimAirth. "At first, of course, all was blank, ghastly despair. Oh, Myra, let me tell you! I have never been able to tell anyone. Go back to thecouch; I can't let you kneel here. Sit down over there, and let me tellyou. "

Lady Ingleby rose at once and returned to her seat; then satlistening--her yearning eyes fixed upon his bowed head. He hadmomentarily forgotten what the events of that night had cost her; so alsohad she. Her only thought was of his pain. 

Jim Airth began to speak, in low, hurried tones; haunted with a horror ofreminiscence. 

"I can see it now. The little stuffy tent; the hidden light. I wasalready sickening for fever, working with a temperature of 102. I hadn'tslept for two nights, and my head felt as if it were two large eyes, andthose eyes, both bruises. I knew I ought to knock under and give the jobto another man; but Ingleby and I had worked it all out together, and Iwas dead keen on it. It was a place where no big guns could go; but ourlittle arrangement which you could carry in one hand, would do better andsurer work, than half a dozen big guns. 

"There was a long wait after Ingleby and the other fellow--it wasIngram--started. Cathcart, left behind with me, was in and out of thetent; but he couldn't stay still two minutes; he was afraid of missingthe rush. So I was alone when the signal came. We found afterwards thatIngram had crawled out of the tunnel, and gone to take a message to thenearest ambush. Ingleby was left alone. He signalled: 'Placed, ' asagreed. I took it to be 'Fire!' and acted instantly. The moment I haddone it, I realised my mistake. But that same instant came the roar, andthe hot silent night was turned to pandemonium. I dashed out of the tent, shouting for Ingleby. Good God! It was like hell! The yelling swearingTommies, making up for the long enforced silence and inaction; the hordesof dark devilish faces, leering in their fury, and jeering at ourdiscomfiture; for inside their outer wall, was a rampart of double thestrength, and we were no nearer taking Targai. 

"Afterwards--if I hadn't owned up at once to my mistake, nobody wouldhave known how the thing had happened. Even then, they tried to persuademe the wrong signal had been given; but I knew better. And on the spot, it was impossible to find--well, any actual proofs of what had happened. The gap had been filled at once with crowds of yelling jostling Tommies, mad to get into the town. Jove, how those chaps fight when they get thechance. When all was over, several were missing who were not among thedead. They must have forced themselves in where they could not get back, and been taken prisoners. God alone knows their fate, poor beggars. Yet Ienvied them; for when the row was over, my hell began. 

"Myra, I would have given my whole life to have had that minute overagain. And it was maddening to know that the business might have beendone all right with any old fuse. Only we were so keen over our new ideasfor signalling, and our portable electric apparatus. Oh, good Lord! Iknew despair, those days and nights! I was down with fever, and they tookaway my sword, and guns, and razors. I couldn't imagine why. Even despairdoesn't take me that way. But if a chap could have come into my tent andsaid: 'You didn't kill Ingleby after all. He's all right and alive!' Iwould have given my life gladly for that moment's relief. But no presentanguish can undo a past mistake. 

"Well, I pulled through the fever; life had to be lived, and I supposeI'm not the sort of chap to take a morbid view. When I found the thingwas to be kept quiet; when the few who knew the ins-and-outs stood by melike the good fellows they were, saying it might have happened to any ofthem, and as soon as I got fit again I should see the only rotten thingwould be to let it spoil my future; I made up my mind to put it cleanaway, and live it down. You know they say, out in the great westerncountry: 'God Almighty hates a quitter. ' It is one of the stimulatingtenets of their fine practical theology. I had fought through other hardtimes. I determined to fight through this. I succeeded so well, that iteven seemed natural to go on with the work Ingleby and I had been doingtogether, and carry it through. And when notes of his were needed, I cameto his own home without a qualm, to ask his widow--the woman I, by mymistake, had widowed--for permission to have and to use them. 

"I came--my mind full of the rich joy of life and love, with scarcelyroom for a passing pang of regret, as I entered the house without amaster, the home without a head, knowing I was about to meet the woman Ihad widowed. Truly 'The mills of God grind slowly, but they grindexceeding small. ' I had thrown off too easily what should have been alifelong burden of regret. 

"In the woman I had widowed I found--the woman I was about to wed! GoodGod! Was there ever so hard a retribution?"

"Jim, " said Myra, gently, "is there not another side to the picture? Doesit not strike you that it should have seemed beautiful to find that Godin His wonderful providence had put you in a position to be able to takecare of Michael's widow, left so helpless and alone; that in saving herlife by the strength of your right hand, you had atoned for the deaththat hand had unwittingly dealt; that, though the past cannot be undone, it can sometimes be wiped out by the present? Oh, Jim! Cannot you see itthus, and keep and hold the right to take care of me forever? My belovèd!Let us never, from this moment, part. I will come away with you at once. We can get a special licence, and be married immediately. We will letShenstone, and let the house in Park Lane, and live abroad, anywhere youwill, Jim; only together--together! Take me away to-day. Maggie O'Maracan attend me, until we are married. But I can't face life without you. Jim--I can't! God knows, I can't!"

Jim Airth looked up, a gleam of hope in his sad eyes. 

Then he looked away, that her appealing loveliness might not too muchtempt him, while making his decision. He lifted his eyes; and, alas! theyfell on the portrait over the mantelpiece. 

He shivered. 

"I can never marry Lord Ingleby's widow, " he said. "Myra, how can youwish it? The thing would haunt us! It would be evil--unnatural. Night andday, it would be there. It would come between us. Some day you wouldreproach me----"

"Ah, hush!" cried Myra, sharply. "Not that! I am suffering enough. Atleast spare me that!" Then, putting aside once more her own pain: "Wouldit not be happiness to you, Jim?" she asked, with wistful gentleness. 

"Happiness?" cried Jim Airth, violently, "It would be hell!"

Lady Ingleby rose, her face as white as the large arum lily in the cornerbehind her. 

"Then that settles it, " she said; "and, do you know, I think we hadbetter not speak of it any more. I am going to ring for tea. And, if youwill excuse me for a few moments, while they are bringing it, I willsearch among my husband's papers, and try to find those you require foryour book. "

She passed swiftly out. Through the closed door, the man she left aloneheard her giving quiet orders in the hall. 

He crossed the room, in two great strides, to follow her. But at the doorhe paused; turned, and came slowly back. 

He stood on the hearthrug, with bent head; rigid, motionless. 

Suddenly he lifted his eyes to Lord Ingleby's portrait. 

"Curse you!" he said through clenched teeth, and beat his fists upon themarble mantelpiece. "Curse your explosives! And curse your inventions!And curse you for taking her first!" Then he dropped into a chair, andburied his face in his hands. "Oh, God forgive me!" he whispered, brokenly. "But there is a limit to what a man can bear. "

He scarcely noticed the entrance of the footman who brought tea. But whena lighter step paused at the door, he lifted a haggard face, expecting tosee Myra. 

A quiet woman entered, simply dressed in black merino. Her white linencollar and cuffs gave her the look of a hospital nurse. Her dark hair, neatly parted, was smoothly coiled around her head. She came in, deferentially; yet with a quiet dignity of manner. 

"I have come to pour your tea, my lord, " she said. "Lady Ingleby is notwell, and fears she must remain in her room. She asks me to give youthese papers. "

Then the Earl of Airth and Monteith rose to his feet, and held out hishand. 

"I think you must be Mrs. O'Mara, " he said. "I am glad to meet you, andit is kind of you to give me tea. I have heard of you before; and Ibelieve I saw you yesterday, on the steps of your pretty house, as Idrove up the avenue. Will you allow me to tell you how often, when westood shoulder to shoulder in times of difficulty and danger, I hadreason to respect and admire the brave comrade I knew as SergeantO'Mara?"

 * * * * *

Before quitting Shenstone, Jim Airth sat at Myra's davenport and wrote aletter, leaving it with Mrs. O'Mara to place in Lady Ingleby's hands assoon as he had gone. 

"I do not wonder you felt unable to see me again. Forgive me for all thegrief I have caused, and am causing, you. I shall go abroad as soon asmay be; but am obliged to remain in town until I have completed workwhich I am under contract with my publishers to finish. It will take amonth, at most. 

"If you want me, Myra--I mean if you _need_ me--I could come at anymoment. A wire to my Club would always find me. 

 "May I know how you are? "Wholly yours, "Jim Airth. "

To this Lady Ingleby replied on the following day. 

"DEAR JIM, "I shall always want you; but I could never send unless the coming wouldmean happiness for you. 

"I know you decided as you felt right, "I am quite well. 

 "God bless you always. "MYRA. "

CHAPTER XX

A BETTER POINT OF VIEW

In the days which followed, Jim Airth suffered all the pangs which cometo a man who has made a decision prompted by pride rather than byconviction. 

It had always seemed to him essential that a man should appear in allthings without shame or blame in the eyes of the woman he loved. Therefore, to be obliged suddenly to admit that a fatal blunder of hisown had been the cause, even in the past, of irreparable loss and sorrowto her, had been an unacknowledged but intolerable humiliation. That sheshould have anything to overlook or to forgive in accepting himself andhis love, was a condition of things to which he could not bring himselfto submit; and her sweet generosity and devotion, rather increased thansoothed his sense of wounded pride. 

He had been superficially honest in the reasons he had given to Myraregarding the impossibility of marriage between them. He had said all thethings which he knew others might be expected to say; he had mercilesslyexpressed what would have been his own judgment had he been asked topronounce an opinion concerning any other man and woman in likecircumstances. As he voiced them they had sounded tragically plausibleand stoically just. He knew he was inflicting almost unbearable pain uponhimself and upon the woman whose whole love was his; but that pain seemednecessary to the tragic demands of the entire ghastly situation. 

Only after he had finally left her and was on his way back to town, didJim Airth realise that the pain he had thus inflicted upon her and uponhimself, had been a solace to his own wounded pride. His had been themistake, and it re-established him in his own self-respect and sense ofsuperiority, that his should be the decision, so hard to make--sounfalteringly made--bringing down upon his own head a punishment out ofall proportion to the fault committed. 

But, now that the strain and tension were over, his natural honesty ofmind reasserted itself, forcing him to admit that his own selfish pridehad been at the bottom of his high-flown tragedy. 

Myra's simple loving view of the case had been the right one; yet, thrusting it from him, he had ruthlessly plunged himself and her into ahopeless abyss of needless suffering. 

By degrees he slowly realised that in so doing he had deliberatelyinflicted a more cruel wrong upon the woman he loved, than that which hehad unwittingly done her in the past. 

Remorse and regret gnawed at his heart, added to an almost unbearablehunger for Myra. Yet he could not bring himself to return to her withthis second and still more humiliating confession of failure. 

His one hope was that Myra would find their separation impossible toendure, and would send for him. But the days went by, and Myra made nosign. She had said she would never send for him unless assured thatcoming to her would mean happiness to him. To this decision she quietlyadhered. 

In a strongly virile man, love towards a woman is, in its essentialqualities, naturally selfish. Its keynote is, "I need"; its dominant, "Iwant"; its full major chord, "I must possess. "

On the other hand, the woman's love for the man is essentially unselfish. Its keynote is, "He needs"; its dominant, "I am his, to do with as hepleases"; its full major chord, "Let me give all. " In the Book ofCanticles, one of the greatest love-poems ever written, we find thistruth exemplified; we see the woman's heart learning its lesson, in afine crescendo of self-surrender. In the first stanza she says: "MyBelovèd is mine, and I am his"; in the second, "I am my Belovèd's and heis mine. " But in the third, all else is merged in the instinctive joy ofgiving: "I am my Belovèd's, and his desire is towards me. "

This is the natural attitude of the sexes, designed by an all-wiseCreator; but designed for a condition of ideal perfection. No perfect lawcould be framed for imperfection. Therefore, if the working out proveoften a failure, the fault lies in the imperfection of the workers, notin the perfection of the law. In those rare cases where the love isideal, the man's "I take" and the woman's "I give" blend into an idealunion, each completing and modifying the other. But where sin of any kindcomes in, a false note has been struck in the divine harmony, and thegrand chord of mutual love fails to ring true. 

Into their perfect love, Jim Airth had introduced the discord of falsepride. It had become the basis of his line of action, and their symphonyof life, so beautiful at first in its sweet theme of mutual love andtrust, now lost its harmony, and jarred into a hopeless jangle. The veryfact that she faithfully adhered to her trustful unselfishness, acquiescing without a murmur in his decision, made readjustment the moreimpossible. Thus the weeks went by. 

Jim Airth worked feverishly at his proofs; drinking and smoking, when heshould have been eating and sleeping; going off suddenly, after two orthree days of continuous sitting at his desk, on desperate bouts ofviolent exercise. 

He walked down to Shenstone by night; sat, in bitterness of spirit underthe beeches, surrounded by empty wicker chairs;--a silent ghostlygarden-party!--watched the dawn break over the lake; prowled around thehouse where Lady Ingleby lay sleeping, and narrowly escaped arrest at thehands of Lady Ingleby's night-watchman; leaving for London by the firsttrain in the morning, more sick at heart than when he started. 

Another time he suddenly turned in at Paddington, took the train down toCornwall, and astonished the Miss Murgatroyds by stalking into thecoffee-room, the gaunt ghost of his old gay self. Afterwards he went offto Horseshoe Cove, climbed the cliff and spent the night on the ledge, dwelling in morbid misery on the wonderful memories with which that placewas surrounded. 

It was then that fresh hope, and the complete acceptance of a betterpoint of view, came to Jim Airth. 

As he sat on the ledge, hugging his lonely misery, he suddenly becamestrangely conscious of Myra's presence. It was as if the sweet wistfulgrey eyes, were turned upon him in the darkness; the tender mouth smiledlovingly, while the voice he knew so well asked in soft merriment, asunder the beeches at Shenstone: "What has come to you, you dearest oldboy?"

He had just put his hand into his pocket and drawn out his spirit-flask. He held it for a moment, while he listened, spellbound, to that whisper;then flung it away into the darkness, far down to the sea below. "DavyJones may have it, " he said, and laughed aloud; "_who e'er he be!_" Itwas the first time Jim Airth had laughed since that afternoon beneath theShenstone beeches. 

Then, with the sense of Myra's presence still so near him, he lay withhis back to the cliff, his face to the moonlit sea. It seemed to him asif again he drew her, shaking and trembling but unresisting, into hisarms, holding her there in safety until her trembling ceased, and sheslept the untroubled sleep of a happy child. 

All the best and noblest in Jim Airth awoke at that hallowed memory offaithful strength on his part, and trustful peace on hers. 

"My God, " he said, "what a nightmare it has been! And what a fool, I, tothink anything could come between us. Has she not been utterly mine sincethat sacred night spent here? And I have left her to loneliness andgrief?. .. . I will arise and go to my belovèd. No past, no shame, no prideof mine, shall come between us any more. "

He raised himself on his elbow and looked over the edge. The moonlightshone on rippling water lapping the foot of the cliff. He could see hiswatch by its bright light. Midnight! He must wait until three, for thetide to go down. He leaned back again, his arms folded across his chest;but Myra was still safely within them. 

Two minutes later, Jim Airth slept soundly. 

The dawn awoke him. He scrambled down to the shore, and once again swamup the golden path toward the rising sun. 

As he got back into his clothes, it seemed to him that every vestige ofthat black nightmare had been left behind in the gay tossing waters. 

On his way to the railway station, he passed a farm. The farmer's wifehad been up since sunrise, churning. She gladly gave him a simplebreakfast of home-made bread, with butter fresh from the churn. 

He caught the six o'clock express for town; tubbed, shaved, and lunched, at his Club. 

At a quarter to three he was just coming down the steps into Piccadilly, very consciously "clothed and in his right mind, " debating which train hecould take for Shenstone if--as in duty bound--he looked in at hispublishers' first; when a telegraph boy dashed up the steps into theClub, and the next moment the hall-porter hastened after him with atelegram. 

Jim Airth read it; took one look at his watch; then jumped headlong intoa passing taxicab. 

"Charing Cross!" he shouted to the chauffeur. "And a sovereign if you doit in five minutes. "

As the flag tinged down, and the taxi glided swiftly forward into thewhirl of traffic, Jim Airth unfolded the telegram and read it again. 

It had been handed in at Shenstone at 2. 15. 

 Come to me at once. Myra. 

A shout of exultation arose within him. 

CHAPTER XXI

MICHAEL VERITAS

On the morning of that day, while Jim Airth, braced with a new resolveand a fresh outlook on life, was speeding up from Cornwall, Lady Inglebysat beneath the scarlet chestnuts, watching Ronald and Billy playtennis. 

They had entered for a tournament, and discovered that they requiredconstant practice such as, apparently, could only be obtained atShenstone. In reality they came over so frequently in honest-heartedtrouble and anxiety over their friend, of whose unexpected sorrow theychanced to be the sole confidants. Lady Ingleby refused herself to allother visitors. In the trying uncertainty of these few weeks while JimAirth was still in England, she dreaded questions or comments. To JaneDalmain she had written the whole truth. The Dalmains were at Worcester, attending a musical festival in that noblest of English cathedrals; butthey expected soon to return to Overdene, when Jane had promised to cometo her. 

Meanwhile Ronald and Billy turned up often, doing their valiant best tobe cheerful; but Myra's fragile look, and large pathetic eyes, alarmedand horrified them. Obviously things had gone more hopelessly wrong thanthey had anticipated. They had known at once that Airth would not marryLady Ingleby; but it had never occurred to them that Lady Ingleby wouldstill wish to marry Airth. Ronald stoutly denied that this was the case;but Billy affirmed it, though refusing to give reasons. 

Ronald had never succeeded in extorting from Billy one word of what hadtaken place when he had told Lady Ingleby that Jim Airth was the man. 

"If you wanted to know how she took it, you should have told heryourself, " said Billy. "And it will be a saving of useless trouble, Ron, if you never ask me again. "

Thus the days went by; and, though she always seemed gently pleased tosee them both, no possible opening had been given to Ronald for assumingthe rôle of manly comforter. 

"I shall give it up, " said Ronnie at last, in bitterness of spirit; "Itell you, I shall give it up; and marry the duchess!"

"Don't be profane, " counselled Billy. "It would be more to the point tofind Airth, and explain to him, in carefully chosen language, thatletting Lady Ingleby die of a broken heart will not atone for blowing upher husband. I always knew our news would make no difference, from themoment I saw her go quite pink when she told us his name. She never wentpink over Ingleby, you bet! I didn't know they could do it, aftertwenty. "

"Much you know, then!" ejaculated Ronnie, scornfully. "I've seen theduchess go pink. "

"Scarlet, you mean, " amended Billy. "So have I, old chap; but that'sanother pair o' boots, as you very well know. "

"Oh, don't be vulgar, " sighed Ronnie, wearily. "Let's cut the whole thingand go to town. Henley begins to-morrow. "

But next day they turned up at Shenstone, earlier than usual. 

And that morning, Lady Ingleby was feeling strangely restful and atpeace; not with any expectations of future happiness; but resigned to theinevitable; and less apart from Jim Airth. She had fallen asleep thenight before beset by haunting memories of Cornwall and of their climb upthe cliff. At midnight she had awakened with a start, fancying herself onthe ledge, and feeling that she was falling. But instantly Jim Airth'sarms seemed to enfold her; she felt herself drawn into safety; then thatexquisite sense of strength and rest was hers once more. 

So vivid had been the dream, that its effect remained with her when sherose. Thus she sat watching the tennis with a little smile of content onher sweet face. 

"She is beginning to forget, " thought Ronnie, exultant. "_My_ 'vantage!"he shouted significantly to Billy, over the net. 

"Deuce!" responded Billy, smashing down the ball with unnecessaryviolence. 

"No!" cried Ronnie. "Outside, my boy! Game and a 'love' set to me!"

"Stay to lunch, boys, " said Lady Ingleby, as the gong sounded; and theyall three went gaily into the house. 

As they passed through the hall afterwards, their motor stood at thedoor; so they bade her good-bye, and turned to find their rackets. 

At that moment they heard the sharp ting of a bicycle bell. A boy hadridden up with a telegram. Groatley, waiting to see them off, took it;picked up a silver salver from the hall table, and followed Lady Inglebyto her sitting-room. 

There seemed so sudden a silence in the house, that Ronald and Billy withone accord stood listening. 

"Twenty minutes to two, " said Billy, glancing at the clock. "Spirits arewalking. "

The next moment a cry rang out from Lady Ingleby's sitting-room--a cry ofsuch mingled bewilderment, wonder, and relief, that they looked at oneanother in amazement. Then without waiting to question or consider, theyhastened to her. 

Lady Ingleby was standing in the middle of the room, an open telegram inher hand. 

"Jim, " she was saying; "Oh, Jim!"

Her face was so transfigured by thankfulness and joy, that neither Ronaldnor Billy could frame a question. They merely gazed at her. 

"Oh, Billy! Oh, Ronald!" she said, "_He didn't do it!_ Oh think what thiswill mean to Jim Airth. Stop the boy! Quick! Bring me a telegram form. Imust send for him at once. .. . Oh, Jim, Jim!. .. . He said he would give hislife for the relief of the moment when some one should step into the tentand tell him he had not done it; and now I shall be that 'some one'!. .. . Oh, _how_ do you spell 'Piccadilly'. .. . Please call Groatley. If we loseno time, he may catch the three o'clock express. .. . Groatley, tell theboy to take this telegram and have it sent off immediately. Give himhalf-a-crown, and say he may keep the change. .. . Now boys. .. . Shut thedoor!"

The whirlwind of excitement was succeeded by sudden stillness. LadyIngleby sank upon the sofa, burying her face for a moment in thecushions. 

In the silence they heard the telegraph boy disappearing rapidly into thedistance, ringing his bell a very unnecessary number of times. When itcould be heard no longer, Lady Ingleby lifted her head. 

"Michael is alive, " she said. 

"Great Scot!" exclaimed Ronnie, and took a step forward. 

Billy made no sound, but he turned very white; backed to the door, andleaned against it for support. 

"Think what it means to Jim Airth!" said Lady Ingleby. "Think of thedespair and misery through which he passed; and, after all, he had notdone it. "

"May we see?" asked Ronald eagerly, holding out his hand for thetelegram. 

Billy licked his dry lips, but no sound would come. 

"Read it, " said Myra. 

Ronald took the telegram and read it aloud. 

 "_To Lady Ingleby, Shenstone Park, Shenstone, England. _

 "_Reported death a mistake. Taken prisoner Targai. Escaped. Arrived Cairo. Large bribes and rewards to pay. Cable five hundred pounds to Cook's immediately. _

 "_Michael Veritas. _"

"Great Scot!" said Ronnie again. 

Billy said nothing; but his eyes never left Lady Ingleby's radiant face. 

"Think what it will mean to Jim Airth, " she repeated. 

"Er--yes, " said Ronnie. "It considerably changes the situation--for him. What does 'Veritas' mean?"

"That, " replied Lady Ingleby "is our private code, Michael's and mine. Mymother once wired to me in Michael's name, and to Michael in mine--dearmamma occasionally does eccentric things--and it made complications. Michael was very much annoyed; and after that we took to signing ourtelegrams 'Veritas, ' which means: 'This is really from me. '"

"Just think!" said Ronnie. "He, a prisoner; and we, all marching away!But I remember now, we always suspected prisoners had been taken atTargai. And positive proofs of Lord Ingleby's death were difficultto--well, don't you know--to find. I mean--there couldn't be a funeral. We had to conclude it, because we believed him to have been right insidethe tunnel. He must have got clear after all, before Airth sent theflash, and getting in with the first rush, been unable to return. Ofcourse he has reached Cairo with no money and no means of getting home. And the chaps who helped him, will stick to him like leeches till theyget their pay. What shall you do about cabling?"

Lady Ingleby seemed to collect her thoughts with difficulty. 

"Of course the money must be sent--and sent at once, " she said. "Oh, Ronnie, _could_ you go up to town about it, for me? I would give you acheque, and a note to my bankers; they will know how to cable it through. Could you, Ronnie? Michael must not be kept waiting; yet I must stay hereto tell Jim. It never struck me that I might have gone up to town myself;and now I have wired to Jim to come down here. Oh, my dear Ronnie, couldyou?"

"Of course I could, " said Ronald, cheerfully. "The motor is at the door. I can catch the two-thirty, if you write the note at once. No need for acheque. Just write a few lines authorising your bankers to send out themoney; I will see them personally; explain the whole thing, and hurrythem up. The money shall be in Cairo to-night, if possible. "

Lady Ingleby went to her davenport. 

No sound broke the stillness save the rapid scratching of her pen. 

Then Billy spoke. "I will come with you, " he said, hoarsely. 

"Why do that?" objected Ronald. "You may as well go on in the motor toOverdene, and tell them there. "

"I am going to town, " said Billy, decidedly. Then he walked over to wherethe telegram still lay on the table. "May I copy this?" he asked of LadyIngleby. 

"Do, " she said, without looking round. 

"And Ronnie--you take the original to show them at the bank. Ah, no! Imust keep that for Jim. Here is paper. Make two copies, Billy. "

Billy had already copied the message into his pocket-book. With shakingfingers he copied it again, handing the sheet to Ronald, without lookingat him. 

The note written, Lady Ingleby rose. 

"Thank you, Ronald, " she said. "Thank you, more than I can say. I thinkyou will catch the train. And good-bye, Billy. "

But Billy was already in the motor. 

CHAPTER XXII

LORD INGLEBY'S WIFE

The journey down from town had been as satisfactorily rapid as even JimAirth could desire. He had caught the train at Charing Cross by fiveseconds. 

The hour's run passed quickly in glowing anticipation of that which wasbeing brought nearer by every turn of the wheels. 

Myra's telegram was drawn from his pocket-book many times. Each wordseemed fraught with tender meaning, "_Come to me at once. _" It was soexactly Myra's simple direct method of expression. Most people would havesaid, "Come here, " or "Come to Shenstone, " or merely "Come. " "Come _tome_" seemed a tender, though unconscious, response to his resolution ofthe night before: "I will arise and go to my belovèd. "

Now that the parting was nearly over, he realised how terrible had beenthe blank of three weeks spent apart from Myra. Her sweet personality wasso knit into his life, that he needed her--not at any particular time, orin any particular way--but always; as the air he breathed; or as thelight, which made the day. 

And she? He drew a well-worn letter from his pocket-book--the only letterhe had ever had from Myra. 

"I shall always want you, " it said; "but I could never send, unless thecoming would mean happiness for you. "

Yet she _had_ sent. Then she had happiness in store for him. Had sheinstinctively realised his change of mind? Or had she gauged hisdesperate hunger by her own, and understood that the satisfying of that, _must_ mean happiness, whatever else of sorrow might lie in thebackground?

But there should be no background of anything but perfect joy, when Myrawas his wife. Would he not have the turning of the fair leaves of herbook of life? Each page should unfold fresh happiness, hold newsurprises as to what life and love could mean. He would know how to guardher from the faintest shadow of disillusion. Even now it was his rightto keep her from that. How much, after all, should he tell her of theheart-searchings of these wretched weeks? Last night he had meant totell her everything; he had meant to say: "I have sinned againstheaven--the heaven of our love--and before thee; and am no moreworthy. .. . " But was it not essential to a woman's happiness to believe theman she loved, to be in all ways, worthy? Out of his pocket came againthe well-worn letter. "I know you decided as you felt right, " wrote Myra. Why perplex her with explanations? Let the dead past bury its dead. Noneed to cloud, even momentarily, the joy with which they could now goforward into a new life. And what a life! Wedded life with Myra----

"Shenstone Junction!" shouted a porter and Jim Airth was across theplatform before the train had stopped. 

The tandem ponies waited outside the station, and this time Jim Airthgathered up the reins with a gay smile, flicking the leader, lightly. Before, he had said: "I never drive other people's ponies, " in responseto "Her ladyship's" message; but now--"All that's mine, is thine, laddie. "

He whistled "Huntingtower, " as he drove between the hayfields. Sprays ofoverhanging traveller's-joy brushed his shoulder in the narrow lanes. Itwas good to be alive on such a day. It was good not to be leavingEngland, in England's most perfect weather. .. . Should he take her home toScotland for their honeymoon, or down to Cornwall?

What a jolly little church!

Evidently Myra never slacked pace for a gate. How the ponies dashedthrough, and into the avenue!

Poor Mrs. O'Mara! It had been difficult to be civil to her, when she hadappeared instead of Myra to give him tea. 

Of course Scotland would be jolly, with so much to show her; but Cornwallmeant more, in its associations. Yes; he would arrange for the honeymoonin Cornwall; be married in the morning, up in town; no fuss; then gostraight down to the old Moorhead Inn. And after dinner, they would sitin the honeysuckle arbour, and----

Groatley showed him into Myra's sitting-room. 

She was not there. 

He walked over to the mantelpiece. It seemed years since that eveningwhen, in a sudden fury against Fate, he had crashed his fists upon itsmarble edge. He raised his eyes to Lord Ingleby's portrait. Poor oldchap! He looked so content, and so pleased with himself, and his littledog. But he must have always appeared more like Myra's father thanher--than anything else. 

On the mantelpiece lay a telegram. After the manner of leisurely countrypost-offices, the full address was written on the envelope. It caught JimAirth's eye, and hardly conscious of doing so, he took it up and read it. "_Lady Ingleby, Shenstone Park, England. _" He laid it down. "England?" hewondered, idly. "Who can have been wiring to her from abroad?"

Then he turned. He had not heard her enter; but she was standing behindhim. 

"Myra!" he cried, and caught her to his heart. 

The rapture and relief of that moment were unspeakable. No words seemedpossible. He could only strain her to him, silently, with all hisstrength, and realise that she was safely there at last. 

Myra had lifted her arms, and laid them lightly about his neck, hidingher face upon his breast. .. . He never knew exactly when he began torealise a subtle change about the quality of her embrace; the woman'spassionate tenderness seemed missing; it rather resembled the trustfulclinging of a little child. An uneasy foreboding, for which he could notaccount, assailed Jim Airth. 

"Kiss me, Myra!" he said, peremptorily, and she, lifting her sweet faceto his, kissed him at once. But it was the pure loving kiss of a littlechild. 

Then she withdrew herself from his embrace; and, standing back, he lookedat her, perplexed. The light upon her face seemed hardly earthly. 

"Oh, Jim, " she said, "God's ways are wonderful! I have such news for you, my friend. I thank God, it came before you had gone beyond recall. And I, who had been the one, unwittingly, to add so terribly to the weight ofthe lifelong cross you had to bear, am privileged to be the one to liftit quite away. Jim--_you did not do it!_"

Jim Airth gazed at her in troubled amazement. Into his mind, involuntarily, came the awesome Scotch word "fey. "

"I did not do what, dear?" he asked, gently, as if he were speaking to alittle child whom he was anxious not to frighten. 

"You did not kill Michael. "

"What makes you think I did not kill Michael, dear?" questioned JimAirth, gently. 

"Because, " said Myra, with clasped hands, "Michael is alive. "

"Dearest heart, " said Jim Airth, tenderly, "you are not well. These awfulthree weeks, and what went before, have been too much for you. The strainhas upset you. I was a brute to go off and leave you. But you knew I didwhat I thought right at the time; didn't you, Myra? Only now I see thewhole thing quite differently. Your view was the true one. We ought tohave acted upon it, and been married at once. "

"Oh, Jim, " said Myra, "thank God we didn't! It would have been soterrible now. It must have been a case of 'Even there shall Thy hand leadme, and Thy right hand shall hold me. ' In our unconscious ignorance, wemight have gone away together, not knowing Michael was alive. "

Beads of perspiration stood on Jim Airth's forehead. 

"My darling, you are ill, " he said, in a voice of agonised anxiety. "I amafraid you are very ill. Do sit down quietly on the couch, and let mering. I must speak to the O'Mara woman, or somebody. Why didn't the foolslet me know? Have you been ill all these weeks?"

Myra let him place her on the couch; smiling up at him reassuringly, ashe stood before her. 

"You must not ring the bell, Jim, " she said. "Maggie is at the Lodge; andGroatley would be so astonished. I am quite well. "

He looked around, in man-like helplessness; yet feeling something must bedone. A long ivory fan, of exquisite workmanship, lay on a table near. Hecaught it up, and handed it to her. She took it; and to please him, opened it, fanning herself gently as she talked. 

"I am not ill, Jim; really dear, I am not. I am only strangely happy andthankful. It seems too wonderful for our poor earthly hearts tounderstand. And I am a little frightened about the future--but you willhelp me to face that, I know. And I am rather worried about little thingsI have done wrong. It seems foolish--but as soon as I realised Michaelwas coming home, I became conscious of hosts of sins of omission, and Iscarcely know where to begin to set them right. And the worst of allis--Jim! we have lost little Peter's grave! No one seems able to locateit. It is so trying of the gardeners; and so wrong of me; because ofcourse I ought to have planted it with flowers. And Michael would haveexpected a little marble slab, by now. But I, stupidly, was too ill tosee to the funeral; and now Anson declares they put him in theplantation, and George swears it was in the shrubbery. I have beenconsulting Groatley who always has ideas, and expresses them so well, andhe says: 'Choose a suitable spot, m' lady; order a handsome tomb; plantit with choice flowers; and who's to be the wiser, till theresurrection?' Groatley is always resourceful; but of course I neverdeceive Michael. Fancy little Peter rising from the shrubbery, whenMichael had mourned for years over a marble tomb on the lawn! But itreally is a great worry. They must all begin digging, and keep on untilthey find something definite. It will be good for the shrubbery and theplantation, like the silly old man in the parable--no, I mean fable--whopretended he had hidden a treasure. Oh, Jim, don't look so distressed. Iought not to pour out all these trivial things to you; but since I haveknown Michael is coming back, my mind seems to have become foolish andtrivial again. Michael always has that effect upon me; because--though hehimself is so great and clever--he really thinks trivial and unimportantthings are a woman's vocation in life. But oh, Jim--Jim Airth--with _you_I am always lifted straight to the big things; and our big thing to-dayis this:--that you never killed Michael. Do you remember telling me how, as you lay in your tent recovering from the fever, if some one could havecome in and told you Michael was alive and well, and that you had notkilled him after all, you would have given your life for the relief ofthat moment? Well, _I_ am that 'some one, ' and _this_ is the 'moment';and when first I had the telegram I could think of nothing--absolutelynothing, Jim--but what it would be to you. "

"What telegram?" gasped Jim Airth. "In heaven's name, Myra, what do youmean?"

"Michael's telegram. It lies on the mantelpiece. Read it, Jim. "

Jim Airth turned, took up the telegram and drew it from the envelope withsteady fingers. He still thought Myra was raving. 

He read it through, slowly. The wording was unmistakable; but he read itthrough again. As he did so he slightly turned, so that his back wastoward the couch. 

The blow was so stupendous. He could only realise one thing, for themoment:--that the woman who watched him read it, must not as yet see hisface. 

She spoke. 

"Is it not almost impossible to believe, Jim? Ronald and Billy werelunching here, when it came. Billy seemed stunned; but Ronnie wasdelighted. He said he had always believed the first men to rush in hadbeen captured, and that no actual proofs of Michael's death had ever beenfound. They never explained to me before, that there had been no funeral. I suppose they thought it would seem more horrible. But I never take muchaccount of bodies. If it weren't for the burden of having a weird littleurn about, and wondering what to do with it, I should approve ofcremation. I sometimes felt I ought to make a pilgrimage to see thegrave. I knew Michael would have wished it. He sets much store bygraves--all the Inglebys lie in family vaults. That makes it worse aboutPeter. Ronnie went up to town at once to telegraph out the money. Billywent with him. Do you think five hundred is enough? Jim?--Jim! Are younot thankful? Do say something, Jim. "

Jim Airth put back the telegram upon the mantelpiece. His big handshook. 

"What is 'Veritas'?" he asked, without looking round. 

"That is our private code, Jim; Michael's and mine. My mother once wiredto me in Michael's name, and to him in mine--poor mamma often doeseccentric things, to get her own way--and it made complications, Michaelwas very much annoyed. So we settled always to sign important telegrams'Veritas, ' which means: 'This is really from me. '"

"Then--your husband--is coming home to you?" said Jim Airth, slowly. 

"Yes, Jim, " the sweet voice faltered, for the first time, and grewtremulous. "Michael is coming home. "

Then Jim Airth turned round, and faced her squarely. Myra had never seenanything so terrible as his face. 

"You are mine, " he said; "not his. "

Myra looked up at him, in dumb sorrowful appeal. She closed the ivoryfan, clasping her hands upon it. The unquestioning finality of herpatient silence, goaded Jim Airth to madness, and let loose the torrentof his fierce wild protest against this inevitable--this unrelenting, fate. 

"You are mine, " he said, "not his. Your love is mine! Your body is mine!Your whole life is mine! I will not leave you to another man. Ah, I knowI said we could not marry! I know I said I should go abroad. But youwould have remained faithful to me; and I, to you. We might have beenapart; we might have been lonely; we might have been at different ends ofthe earth; but--we should have been each other's. I could have left youto loneliness; but, by God, I will not leave you to another!"

Myra rose, moved forward a few steps and stood, leaning her arm upon themantelpiece and looking down upon the bank of ferns and lilies. 

"Hush, Jim, " she said, gently. "You forget to whom you are speaking. "

"I am speaking, " cried Jim Airth, in furious desperation, "to the woman Ihave won for my own; and who is mine, and none other's. If it had notbeen for my pride and my folly, we should have been married bynow--_married_, Myra--and far away. I left you, I know; but--by heaven, Imay as well tell you all now--it was pride--damnable false pride--thatdrove me away. I always meant to come back. I was waiting for you tosend; but anyhow I should have come back. Would to God I had done as youimplored me to do! By now we should have been together--out of reach ofthis cursed telegram, --and far away!"

Myra slowly lifted her eyes and looked at him. He, blinded by pain andpassion, failed to mark the look, or he might have taken warning. As itwas, he rushed on, headlong. 

Myra, very white, with eyelids lowered, leaned against the mantelpiece;slowly furling and unfurling the ivory fan. 

"But, darling, " urged Jim Airth, "it is not yet too late. Oh, Myra, Ihave loved you so! Our love has been so wonderful. Have I not taught youwhat love is? The poor cold travesty you knew before--_that_ was notlove! Oh, Myra! you will come away with me, my own belovèd? You won't putme through the hell of leaving you to another man? Myra, look at me! Sayyou will come. "

Then Lady Ingleby slowly closed the fan, grasping it firmly in her righthand. She threw back her head, and looked Jim Airth full in the eyes. 

"So _this_ is your love, " she said. "This is what it means? Then I thankGod I have hitherto only known the 'cold travesty, ' which at least haskept me pure, and held me high. What? Would you drag _me_ down to thelevel of the woman you have scorned for a dozen years? And, dragging medown, would you also trail, with me, in the mire, the noble name of theman whom you have ventured to call friend? My husband may not have givenme much of those things a woman desires. But he has trusted me with hisname, and with his honour; he has left me, mistress of his home. When hecomes back he will find me what he himself made me--mistress ofShenstone; he will find me where he left me, awaiting his return. You areno longer speaking to a widow, Lord Airth; nor to a woman left desolate. You are speaking to Lord Ingleby's wife, and you may as well learn howLord Ingleby's wife guards Lord Ingleby's name, and defends her ownhonour, and his. " She lifted her hand swiftly and struck him, with theivory fan, twice across the cheek. "Traitor!" she said, "and coward!Leave this house, and never set foot in it again!"

Jim Airth staggered back, his face livid--ashen, his hand involuntarilyraised to ward off a third blow. Then the furious blood surged back. Twocrimson streaks marked his cheek. He sprang forward; with a swiftmovement caught the fan from Lady Ingleby's hands, and whirled it abovehis head. His eyes blazed into hers. For a moment she thought he wasgoing to strike her. She neither flinched nor moved; only the faintestsmile curved the corners of her mouth into a scornful question. 

Then Jim Airth gripped the fan in both hands; with a twist of his strongfingers snapped it in half, the halves into quarters, and again, withanother wrench, crushed those into a hundred fragments--flung them at herfeet; and, turning on his heel, left the room, and left the house. 

CHAPTER XXIII

WHAT BILLY KNEW

Ronald and Billy had spoken but little, as they sped to the railwaystation, earlier on that afternoon. 

"Rummy go, " volunteered Ronald, launching the tentative comment into thesomewhat oppressive silence. 

Billy made no rejoinder. 

"Why did you insist on coming with me?" asked Ronald. 

"I'm not coming with you, " replied Billy laconically. 

"Where then, Billy? Why so tragic? Are you going to leap from LondonBridge? Don't do it Billy-boy! You never had a chance. You were merely anice kid. I'm the chap who might be tragic; and see--I'm going to thebank to despatch the wherewithal for bringing the old boy back. Takeexample by my fortitude, Billy. "

Billy's explosion, when it came, was so violent, so choice, and so unlikeBilly, that Ronald relapsed into wondering silence. 

But once in the train, locked into an empty first-class smoker, Billyturned a white face to his friend. 

"Ronnie, " he said, "I am going straight to Sir Deryck Brand. He is theonly man I know, with a head on his shoulders. "

"Thank you, " said Ronnie. "I suppose I dandle mine on my knee. But whythis urgent need of a man with his head so uniquely placed?"

"Because, " said Billy, "that telegram is a lie. "

"Nonsense, Billy! The wish is father to the thought! Oh, shame on you, Billy! Poor old Ingleby!"

"It is a lie, " repeated Billy, doggedly. 

"But look, " objected Ronald, unfolding the telegram. "Here you are. '_Veritas. _' What do you make of that?"

"Veritas be hanged!" said Billy. "It's a lie; and we've got to find outwhat damned rascal has sent it. "

"But what possible reason have you to throw doubt on it?" inquiredRonald, gravely. 

"Oh, confound you!" burst out Billy at last; "_I picked up the pieces!_"

 * * * * *

A very nervous white-faced young man sat in the green leather armchair inDr. Brand's consulting-room. He had shown the telegram, and jerked out afew incoherent sentences; after which Sir Deryck, by means of carefullychosen questions, had arrived at the main facts. He now sat at his tableconsidering them. 

Then, turning in his revolving-chair, he looked steadily at Billy. 

"Cathcart, " he said, quietly, "what reason have you for being so certainof Lord Ingleby's death, and that this telegram is therefore a forgery?"

Billy moistened his lips. "Oh, confound it!" he said. "I picked up thepieces!"

"I see, " said Sir Deryck; and looked away. 

"I have never told a soul, " said Billy. "It is not a pretty story. But Ican give you details, if you like. "

"I think you had better give me details, " said Sir Deryck, gravely. 

So, with white lips, Billy gave them. 

The doctor rose, buttoning his coat. Then he poured out a glass of waterand handed it to Billy. 

"Come, " he said. "Fortunately I know a very cute detective from our ownLondon force who happens just now to be in Cairo. We must go to ScotlandYard for his address, and a code. In fact we had better work it throughthem. You have done the right thing, Billy; and done it promptly; but wehave no time to lose. "

 * * * * *

Twenty-four hours later, the doctor called at Shenstone Park. He hadtelegraphed his train requesting to be met by the motor; and he now askedthe chauffeur to wait at the door, in order to take him back to thestation. 

"I could only come between trains, " he explained to Lady Ingleby, "so youmust forgive the short notice, and the peremptory tone of my telegram. Icould not risk missing you. I have something of great importance tocommunicate. "

The doctor waited a moment, hardly knowing how to proceed. He had seenMyra Ingleby under many varying conditions. He knew her well; and she wasa woman so invariably true to herself, that he expected to be able toforesee exactly how she would act under any given combination ofcircumstances. 

In this undreamed of development of Lord Ingleby's return, he anticipatedfinding her gently acquiescent; eagerly ready to resume again the dutiesof wifehood; with no thought of herself, but filled with anxious desirein all things to please the man who, with his whims and fancies, hisfoibles and ideas, had for nine months passed completely out of her life. Deryck Brand had expected to find Lady Ingleby in the mood of a typicalApril day, sunshine and showers rapidly alternating; whimsical smiles, succeeded by ready tears; then, with lashes still wet, gay laughter atsome mistake of her own, or at incongruous behaviour on the part of herdevoted but erratic household; speedily followed by pathetic anxiety overher own supposed short-comings in view of Lord Ingleby's requirements onhis return. 

Instead of this charming personification of unselfish, inconsequent, tender femininity, the doctor found himself confronted by a calm coldwoman, with hard unseeing eyes; a woman in whom something had died; anddying, had slain all the best and truest in her womanhood. 

"Another man, " was the prompt conclusion at which the doctor arrived; andthis conclusion, coupled with the exigency of his own pressingengagements, brought him without preamble, very promptly to the point. 

"Lady Ingleby, " he said, "a cruel and heartless wrong has been done youby a despicable scoundrel, for whom no retribution would be too severe. "

"I am perfectly aware of that, " replied Lady Ingleby, calmly; "but I failto understand, Sir Deryck, why you should consider it necessary to comedown here in order to discuss it. "

This most unexpected reply for a moment completely nonplussed the doctor. But rapid mental adjustment formed an important part of his professionalequipment. 

"I fear we are speaking at cross-purposes, " he said, gently. "Forgive me, if I appear to have trespassed upon a subject of which I have noknowledge whatever. I am referring to the telegram received by youyesterday, which led you to suppose the report of Lord Ingleby's deathwas a mistake, and that he might shortly be returning home. "

"My husband is alive, " said Lady Ingleby. "He has telegraphed to me fromCairo, and I expect him back very soon. "

For answer, Deryck Brand drew from his pocket-book two telegrams. 

"I am bound to tell you at once, dear Lady Ingleby, " he said, "that youhave been cruelly deceived. The message from Cairo was a heartless fraud, designed in order to obtain money. Billy Cathcart had reason to suspectits genuineness, and brought it to me. I cabled at once to Cairo, withthis result. "

He laid two telegrams on the table before her. 

"The first is a copy of one we sent yesterday to a detective out there. The second I received three hours ago. No one--not even Billy--has heardof its arrival. I have brought it immediately to you. "

Lady Ingleby slowly lifted the paper containing the first message. Sheread it in silence. 

 Watch Cook's bank and arrest man personating Lord Ingleby who will call for draft of money. Cable particulars promptly. 

The doctor observed her closely as she laid down the first messagewithout comment, and took up the second. 

 Former valet of Lord Ingleby's arrested. Confesses to despatch of fraudulent telegram. Cable instructions. 

Lady Ingleby folded both papers and laid them on the table beside her. The calm impassivity of the white face had undergone no change. 

"It must have been Walker, " she said. "Michael always considered him ascamp and shifty; but I delighted in him, because he played the banjoquite excellently, and was so useful at parish entertainments. Michaeltook him abroad; but had to dismiss him on landing. He wrote and told methe fact, but gave no reasons. Poor Walker! I do not wish him punished, because I know Michael would think it was largely my own fault forputting banjo-playing before character. If Walker had written me abegging letter, I should most likely have sent him the money. I have afatal habit of believing in people, and of wanting everybody to behappy. "

Then, as if these last words recalled a momentarily forgotten wound, thestony apathy returned to voice and face. 

"If Michael is not coming back, " said Lady Ingleby, "I am indeed alone. "

The doctor rose, and stood looking down upon her, perplexed andsorrowful. 

"Is there not some one who should be told immediately of this change ofaffairs, Lady Ingleby?" he asked, gravely. 

"No one, " she replied, emphatically. "There is nobody whom it concernsintimately, excepting myself. And not many know of the arrival ofyesterday's news. I wrote to Jane, and I suppose the boys told it atOverdene. If by any chance it gets into the papers, we must send acontradiction; but no explanation, please. I dislike the publication ofwrong doing. It only leads to imitation and repetition. Beside, even apoor worm of a valet should be shielded if possible from publicexecration. We could not explain the extenuating circumstances. "

"I do not suppose the news has become widely known, " said the doctor. "Your household heard it, of course?"

"Yes, " replied Lady Ingleby. "Ah, that reminds me, I must stop operationsin the shrubbery and plantation. There is no object in little Peterhaving a grave, when his master has none. "

This was absolutely unintelligible to the doctor; but at such times henever asked unnecessary questions, for his own enlightenment. 

"So after all, Sir Deryck, " added Lady Ingleby, "Peter was right. "

"Yes, " said the doctor, "little Peter was not mistaken. "

"Had I remembered him, I might have doubted the telegram, " remarked LadyIngleby. "What can have aroused Billy's suspicions?"

"Like Peter, " said the doctor, "Billy had, from the first, felt verysure. Do not mention to him that I told you the doubts originated withhim. He is a sensitive lad, and the whole thing has greatly distressedhim. "

"Dear Billy, " said Lady Ingleby. 

The doctor glanced at the clock, and buttoned his coat. He had one minuteto spare. 

"My friend, " he said, "a second time I have come as the bearer of eviltidings. "

"Not evil, " replied Myra, in a tone of hopeless sadness. "This is not aworld to which we could possibly desire the return of one we love. "

"There is nothing wrong with the world, " said the doctor. "Our individualheaven or hell is brought about by our own actions. "

"Or by the actions of others, " amended Lady Ingleby, bitterly. 

"Or by the actions of others, " agreed the doctor. "But, even then, wecannot be completely happy, unless we are true to our best selves; norwholly miserable, unless to our own ideals we become false. I fear I mustbe off; but I do not like leaving you thus alone. "

Lady Ingleby glanced at the clock, rose, and gave him her hand. 

"You have been more than kind, Sir Deryck, in coming to me yourself. Ishall never forget it. And I am expecting Jane Champion--Dalmain, I mean;why do one's friends get married?--any minute. She is coming direct fromtown; the phaeton has gone to the station to meet her. "

"Good, " said the doctor, and clasped her hand with the strong silentsympathy of a man who, desiring to help, yet realises himself in thepresence of a grief he is powerless either to understand or to assuage. 

"Good--very good, " he said, as he stepped into the motor, remarking tothe chauffeur: "We have nine minutes; and if we miss the train, I mustask you to run me up to town. "

And he said it a third time, even more emphatically, when he hadrecovered from his surprise at that which he saw as the motor flew downthe avenue. For, after passing Lady Ingleby's phaeton returning from thestation empty excepting for a travelling coat and alligator bag left uponthe seat, he saw the Honourable Mrs. Dalmain walking slowly beneath thetrees, in earnest conversation with a very tall man, who carried his hat, letting the breeze blow through his thick rumpled hair. Both were toopreoccupied to notice the motor, but as the man turned his haggard facetoward his companion, the doctor saw in it the same stony look ofhopeless despair, which had grieved and baffled him in Lady Ingleby's. The two were slowly wending their way toward the house, by a path leadingdown to the terrace. 

"Evidently--the man, " thought the doctor. "Well, I am glad Jane has himin tow. Poor souls! Providence has placed them in wise hands. If faithfulcounsel and honest plain-speaking can avail them anything, they willundoubtedly receive both, from our good Jane. "

Providence also arranged that the London express was one minute late, andthe doctor caught it. Whereat the chauffeur rejoiced; for he was "walkingout" with Her ladyship's maid, whose evening off it chanced to be. Theall-important events of life are apt to hang upon the happenings of oneminute. 

CHAPTER XXIV

MRS. DALMAIN REVIEWS THE SITUATION

"So you see, Jane, " concluded Lady Ingleby, pathetically, "as Michael isnot coming back, I am indeed alone. "

"Loving Jim Airth as you do--" said Jane Dalmain. 

"Did, " interposed Lady Ingleby. 

"Did, and do, " said Jane Dalmain, "you would have been worse than aloneif Michael had, after all, come back. Oh, Myra! I cannot imagine anythingmore unendurable, than to love one man, and be obliged to live withanother. "

"I should not have allowed myself to go on loving Jim, " said LadyIngleby. 

"Rubbish!" pronounced Mrs. Dalmain, with forceful decision. "My dearMyra, that kind of remark paves the way for the devil, and is one of hisfavourite devices. More good women have been tripped by over-confidencein their ability to curb and to control their own affections, than bydirect temptation to love where love is not lawful. Men are different;their temptations are not so subtle. They know exactly to what it willlead, if they dally with sentiment. Therefore, if they mean to do theright thing in the end, they keep clear of the danger at the beginning. We cannot possibly forbid ourselves to go on loving, where love has oncebeen allowed to reign supreme. I know you would not, in the firstinstance, have let yourself care for Jim Airth, had you not been free. But, once loving him, if so appalling a situation could have arisen asthe unexpected return of your husband, your only safe and honourablecourse would have been to frankly tell Lord Ingleby: 'I grew to love JimAirth while I believed you dead. I shall always love Jim Airth; but, Iwant before all else to be a good woman and a faithful wife. Trust me tobe faithful; help me to be good. ' Any man, worth his salt, would respondto such an appeal. "

"And shoot himself?" suggested Lady Ingleby. 

"I said 'man, ' not 'coward, '" responded Mrs. Dalmain, with fine scorn. 

"Jane, you are so strong-minded, " murmured Lady Ingleby. "It goes withyour linen collars, your tailor-made coats, and your big boots. I cannotpicture myself in a linen collar, nor can I conceive of myself asstanding before Michael and informing him that I loved Jim!"

Jane Dalmain laughed good-humouredly, plunged her large hands into thepockets of her tweed coat, stretched out her serviceable brown boots andlooked at them. 

"If by 'strong-minded' you mean a wholesome dislike to the involving of astraightforward situation in a tangle of disingenuous sophistry, I pleadguilty, " she said. 

"Oh, don't quote Sir Deryck, " retorted Lady Ingleby, crossly. "You oughtto have married him! I never could understand such an artist, such apoet, such an eclectic idealist as Garth Dalmain, falling in love with_you_, Jane!"

A sudden light of womanly tenderness illumined Jane's plain face. "Thewife" looked out from it, in simple unconscious radiance. 

"Nor could I, " she answered softly. "It took me three years to realise itas an indubitable fact. "

"I suppose you are very happy, " remarked Myra. 

Jane was silent. There were shrines in that strong nature too whollysacred to be easily unveiled. 

"I remember how I hated the idea, after the accident, " said Myra, "ofyour tying yourself to blindness. "

"Oh, hush, " said Jane Dalmain, quickly. "You tread on sacred ground, andyou forget to remove your shoes. From the first, the sweetest thingbetween my husband and myself has been that, together, we learned to kissthat cross. "

"Dear old thing!" said Lady Ingleby, affectionately; "you deserved to behappy. All the same I never can understand why you did not marry DeryckBrand. "

Jane smiled. She could not bring herself to discuss her husband, but shewas very willing at this critical juncture to divert Lady Ingleby fromher own troubles by entering into particulars concerning herself and thedoctor. 

"My dear, " she said, "Deryck and I were far too much alike ever to havedovetailed into marriage. All our points would have met, and ourdifferences gaped wide. The qualities which go to the making of a perfectfriendship by no means always ensure a perfect marriage. There was a timewhen I should have married Deryck had he asked me to do so, simplybecause I implicitly trusted his judgment in all things, and it wouldnever have occurred to me to refuse him anything he asked. But it wouldnot have resulted in our mutual happiness. Also, at that time, I had noidea what love really meant. I no more understood love until--until Garthtaught me, than you understood it before you met Jim Airth. "

"I wish you would not keep on alluding to Jim Airth, " said Myra, wearily. "I never wish to hear his name again. And I cannot allow you to supposethat I should ever have adopted your strong-minded suggestion, andadmitted to Michael that I loved Jim. I should have done nothing of thekind. I should have devoted myself to pleasing Michael in all things, and_made myself_--yes, Jane; you need not look amused and incredulous;though I _don't_ wear collars and shooting-boots, I _can_ make myself dothings--I should have made myself forget that there was such a person inthis world as the Earl of Airth and Monteith. "

"Oh spare him that!" laughed Mrs. Dalmain. "Don't call the poor man byhis titles. If he must be hanged, at least let him hang as plain JimAirth. If one had to be wicked, it would be so infinitely worse to be awicked earl, than wicked in any other walk of life. It savours sopainfully of the 'penny-dreadful', or the cheap novelette. Also, my dear, there is nothing to be gained by discussing a hypothetical situation, with which you do not after all find yourself confronted. Mercifully, Lord Ingleby is not coming back. "

"Mercifully!" exclaimed Lady Ingleby. "Really, Jane, you are crude beyondwords, and most unsympathetic. You should have heard how tactfully thedoctor broke it to me, and how kindly he alluded to my loss. "

"My dear Myra, " said Mrs. Dalmain, "I don't waste sympathy on falsesentiment. And if Deryck had known you were already engaged to anotherman, instead of devoting to you four hours of his valuable time, he couldhave sent a sixpenny wire: 'Telegram a forgery. Accept heartfeltcongratulations!'"

"Jane, you are brutal. And seeing that I have just told you the wholestory of these last weeks, with the cruel heart-breaking finale ofyesterday, I fail to understand how you can speak of me as engaged toanother man. "

Instantly Jane Dalmain's whole bearing altered. She ceased lookingquizzically amused, and left off swinging her brown boot. She sat up, uncrossed her knees, and leaning her elbows upon them, held out her largecapable hands to Lady Ingleby. Her noble face, grandly strong and tender, in its undeniable plainness, was full of womanly understanding andsympathy. 

"Ah, my dear, " she said, "now we must come to the crux of the wholematter. I have merely been playing around the fringe of the subject, inorder to give you time to recover from the inevitable strain of the longand painful recital you have felt it necessary to make, in order that Imight fully understand your position in all its bearings. The realquestion is this: Are you going to forgive Jim Airth?"

"I must never forgive him, " said Lady Ingleby, with finality, "because, if I forgave him, I could not let him go. "

"Why let him go, when his going leaves your whole life desolate?"

"Because, " said Myra, "I feel I could not trust him; and I dare not marrya man whom I love as I love Jim Airth, unless I can trust him asimplicitly as I trust my God. If I loved him less, I would take the risk. But I feel, for him, something which I can neither understand nor define;only I know that in time it would make him so completely master of methat, unless I could trust him absolutely--I should be afraid. "

"Is a man never to be trusted again, " asked Jane, "because, under suddenfierce temptation, he has failed you once?"

"It is not the failing once, " said Myra. "It is the light thrown upon thewhole quality of his love--of that _kind_ of love. The passion of itmakes it selfish--selfish to the degree of being utterly regardless ofright and wrong, and careless of the welfare of its unfortunate object. My fair name would have been smirched; my honour dragged in the mire; mypresent, blighted; my future, ruined; but what did _he_ care? It was allswept aside in the one sentence: 'You are mine, not his. You must comeaway with me. ' I cannot trust myself to a love which has no standard ofright and wrong. We look at it from different points of view. _You_ seeonly the man and his temptation. _I_ knew the priceless treasure of thelove; therefore the sin against that love seems to me unforgivable. "

Mrs. Dalmain looked earnestly at her friend. Her steadfast eyes weredeeply troubled. 

"Myra, " she said, "you are absolutely right in your definitions, andcorrect in your conclusions. But your mistake is this. You make noallowance for the sudden, desperate, overwhelming nature of thetemptation before which Jim Airth fell. Remember all that led up to it. Think of it, Myra! He stood so alone in the world; no mother, no wife, nowoman's tenderness. And those ten hard years of worse than loneliness, when he fought the horrors of disillusion, the shame of betrayal, thebitterness of desertion; the humiliation of the stain upon his noblename. Against all this, during ten long years, he struggled; fought amanful fight, and overcame. Then--strong, hardened, lonely; a man grownto man's full heritage of self-contained independence--he met you, Myra. His ideals returned, purified and strengthened by their passage throughthe fire. Love came, now, in such gigantic force, that the pigmy passionof early youth was dwarfed and superseded. It seemed a new and untastedexperience such as he had not dreamed life could contain. Three weeks ofit, he had; growing in certainty, increasing in richness, every day; yettempered by the patient waiting your pleasure, for eagerly expectedfulfilment. Then the blow--so terrible to his sensibilities and to hismanly pride; the horrible knowledge that his own hand had brought lossand sorrow to you, whom he would have shielded from the faintest shadowof pain. Then his mistake in allowing false pride to come between you. Three weeks of growing hunger and regret, followed by your summons, whichseemed to promise happiness after all; for, remember while _you_ had beenbringing yourself to acquiesce in his decision as absolutely final, sothat the news of Lord Ingleby's return meant no loss to you and to him, merely the relief of his exculpation, _he_ had been coming round to amore reasonable point of view, and realising that, after all, he had notlost you. You sent for him, and he came--once more aglow with love andcertainty--only to hear that he had not only lost you himself, but mustleave you to another man. Oh Myra! Can you not make allowance for amoment of fierce madness? Can you not see that the very strength of theman momentarily turned in the wrong direction, brought about hisdownfall? You tell me you called him coward and traitor? You might aswell have struck him! Such words from your lips must have been worse thanblows. I admit he deserved them; yet Saint Peter was thrice a coward anda traitor, but his Lord, making allowance for a sudden yielding totemptation, did not doubt the loyalty of his love, but gave him a chanceof threefold public confession, and forgave him. If Divine Love could dothis--oh, Myra, can _you_ let your lover go out into the world again, alone, without one word of forgiveness?"

"How do I know he wants my forgiveness, Jane? He left me in a toweringfury. And how could my forgiveness reach him, even supposing he desiredit, or I could give it? Where is he now?"

"He left you in despair, " said Mrs. Dalmain, "and--he is in thelibrary. "

Lady Ingleby rose to her feet. 

"Jane! Jim Airth in this house! Who admitted him?"

"I did, " replied Mrs. Dalmain, coolly. "I smuggled him in. Not a soul sawus enter. That was why I sent the carriage on ahead, when we reached thepark gates. We walked up the avenue, turned down on to the terrace andslipped in by the lower door. He has been sitting in the library eversince. If you decide not to see him, I can go down and tell him so; hecan go out as he came in, and none of your household will know he hasbeen here. Dear Myra, don't look so distraught. Do sit down again, andlet us finish our talk. .. . That is right. You must not be hurried. Adecision which affects one's whole life, cannot be made in a minute, noreven in an hour. Lord Airth does not wish to force an interview, nor do Iwish to persuade you to grant him one. He will not be surprised if Ibring him word that you would rather not see him. "

"Rather not?" cried Myra, with clasped hands. "Oh Jane, if you could knowwhat the mere thought of seeing him means to me, you would not say'rather not, ' but 'dare not. '"

"Let me tell you how we met, " said Mrs. Dalmain, ignoring the lastremark. "I reached Charing Cross in good time; stopped at the book stallfor a supply of papers; secured an empty compartment, and settled down toa quiet hour. Jim Airth dashed into the station with barely one minute inwhich to take his ticket and reach the train. He tore up the platform, asthe train began to move; had not time to reach a smoker; wrenched openthe door of my compartment; jumped in headlong, and sat down upon mypapers; turned to apologise, and found himself shut in alone for an hourwith the friend to whom you had written weekly letters from Cornwall, andof whom you had apparently told him rather nice things--or, at all eventsthings which led him to consider me trustworthy. He recognised me by arecent photograph which you had shown him. "

"I remember, " said Myra. "I kept it in my writing-case. He took it up andlooked at it several times. I often spoke to him of you. "

"He introduced himself with straightforward simplicity, " continued Mrs. Dalmain, "and then--we neither of us knew quite how it happened--in a fewminutes we were talking without reserve. I believe he felt frankness withme on his part might enable me, in the future, to be a comfort toyou--you are his one thought; also, that if I interceded, you wouldperhaps grant him that which he came to seek--the opportunity to ask yourforgiveness. Of course we neither of us had the slightest idea of thepossibility that yesterday's telegram could be incorrect. He sails forAmerica almost immediately, but could not bring himself to leave Englandwithout having expressed to you his contrition, and obtained your pardon. He would have written, but did not feel he ought, for your sake, to runthe risk of putting explanations on to paper. Also I honestly believe itis breaking his heart, poor fellow, to feel that you and he partedforever, in anger. His love for you is a very great love, Myra. "

"Oh, Jane, " cried Lady Ingleby, "I cannot let him go! And yet--I _cannot_marry him. I love him with every fibre of my whole being, and yet Icannot trust him. Oh, Jane, what shall I do?"

"You must give him a chance, " said Mrs. Dalmain, "to retrieve hismistake, and to prove himself the man we know him to be. Say to him, without explanation, what you have just said to me: that you _cannot lethim go_; and see how he takes it. Listen, Myra. The unforeseendevelopments of the last few hours have put it into your power to giveJim Airth his chance. You must not rob him of it. Years ago, when Garthand I were in an apparently hopeless tangle of irretrievable mistake, Deryck found us a way out. He said if Garth could go _behind hisblindness_ and express an opinion which he only could have given while hehad his sight, the question might be solved. I need not trouble you withdetails, but that was exactly what happened, and our great happinessresulted. Now, in your case, Jim Airth must be given the chance to go_behind his madness_, regain his own self-respect, and prove himselfworthy of your trust. Have you told any one of the second telegram fromCairo?"

"I saw nobody, " said Lady Ingleby, "from the moment Sir Deryck left me, until you walked in. "

"Very well. Then you, and Deryck, and I, are the only people in Englandwho know of it. Jim Airth will have no idea of any change of conditionssince yesterday. Do you see what that means, Myra?"

Lady Ingleby's pale face flushed. "Oh Jane, I dare not! If he failedagain----"

"He will not fail, " replied Mrs. Dalmain, with decision; "but should hedo so, he will have proved himself, as you say, unworthy of your trust. Then--you can forgive him, and let him go. "

"I cannot let him go!" cried Myra. "And yet I cannot marry him, unless heis all I have believed him to be. "

"Ah, my dear, my dear!" said Mrs. Dalmain, tenderly. "You need to learn alesson about married life. True happiness does not come from marrying anidol throned on a pedestal. Before Galatea could wed Pygmalion, she hadto change from marble into glowing flesh and blood, and step down fromoff her pedestal. Love should not make us blind to one another's faults. It should only make us infinitely tender, and completely understanding. Let me tell you a shrewd remark of Aunt Georgina's on that subject. Speaking to a young married woman who considered herself wronged anddisillusioned because, the honeymoon over, she discovered her husband notto be in all things absolutely perfect: 'Ah, my good girl, ' said Aunt'Gina, rapping the floor with her ebony cane; 'you made a foolish mistakeif you imagined you were marrying an angel, when we have it, on the veryhighest authority, that the angels neither marry nor are given inmarriage. Men and women, who are human enough to marry, are human enoughto be full of faults; and the best thing marriage provides is that eachgets somebody who will love, forgive, and understand. If you had waitedfor perfection, you would have reached heaven a spinster, which wouldhave been, to say the least of it, dull--when you had had the chance ofmatrimony on earth! Go and make it up with that nice boy of yours, or Ishall find him some pretty--' But the little bride, her anger dissolvingin laughter and tears, had fled across the lawn in pursuit of a tallfigure in tweeds, stalking in solitary dudgeon towards the river. Theydisappeared into the boathouse, and soon after we saw them in a tinyskiff for two, and heard their happy laughter. 'Silly babies!' said Aunt'Gina, crossly, 'they'll do it once too often, when I'm not there tospank them; and then there'll be a shipwreck! Oh, why did Adam marry, andspoil that peaceful garden?' Whereat Tommy, the old scarlet macaw, swunghead downwards from his golden perch, with such shrieks of delightedlaughter, mingled with appropriate profanity, that Aunt 'Gina'sgood-humour was instantly restored. 'Give him a strawberry, somebody!'she said; and spoke no more on things matrimonial. "

Myra laughed. "The duchess's views are always refreshing. I wonderwhether Michael and I made the mistake of not realising each other to behuman; of not admitting there was anything to forgive, and thereforenever forgiving?"

"Well, don't make it with Jim Airth, " advised Mrs. Dalmain, "for he isthe most human man I ever met; also the strongest, and one of the mostlovable. Myra, there is nothing to be gained by waiting. Let me send himto you now; and, remember, all he asks or expects is one word offorgiveness. "

"Oh, Jane!" cried Lady Ingleby, with clasped hands. "Do wait a littlewhile. Give me time to think; time to consider; time to decide. "

"Nonsense, my dear, " said Mrs. Dalmain, "When but one right course liesbefore you, there can be no possible need for hesitation orconsideration. You are merely nervously postponing the inevitable. Youremind me of scenes we used to have in the out-patient department of ahospital in the East End of London, to which I once went for training. When patients came to the surgery for teeth extraction, and the prettysympathetic little nurse in charge had got them safely fixed into thechair; as one of the doctors, prompt and alert, came forward withunmistakably business-like forceps ready, the terrified patient wouldexclaim: 'Oh, let the nurse do it! Let the nurse do it!' the ideaevidently being that three or four diffident pulls by the nurse, wereless alarming than the sharp certainty of _one_ from the doctor. Now, mydear Myra, you have to face your ordeal. If it is to be successful theremust be no uncertainty. "

"Oh, Jane, I wish you were not such a decided person. I am sure when_you_ were the nurse, the poor things preferred the doctors. I amterrified; yet I know you are right. And, oh, you dear, don't leave me!See me through. "

"I am never away from Garth for a night, as you know, " said Mrs. Dalmain. "But he and little Geoff went down to Overdene this morning, with Simpsonand nurse; so, if your man can motor me over during the evening, I willstay as long as you need me. "

"Ah, thanks, " said Lady Ingleby. "And now, Jane, you have done all youcan for me; and God knows how much that means. I want to be quite alonefor an hour. I feel I must face it out, and decide what I really intenddoing. I owe it to Jim, I owe it to myself, to be quite sure what I meanto say, before I see him. Order tea in the library. Tell him I will seehim; and, at the end of the hour, send him here. But, Jane--not a hint ofanything which has passed between us. I may rely on you?"

"My dear, " said Mrs. Dalmain, gently, "I play the game!"

She rose and stood on the hearthrug, looking intently at her husband'spainting of Lord Ingleby. 

"And, Myra, " she said at last, "I do entreat you to remember, you aredealing with an unknown quantity. You have never before known intimatelya man of Jim Airth's temperament. His love for you, and yours for him, hold elements as yet not fully understood by you. Remember this, indrawing your conclusions. I had almost said, Let instinct guide, ratherthan reason. "

"I understand your meaning, " said Lady Ingleby. "But I dare not dependupon either instinct or reason. I have not been a religious woman, Jane, as of course you know; but--I have been learning lately; and, as I learn, I try to practise. I feel myself to be in so dark and difficult a place, that I am trying to say, 'Even _there_ shall Thy hand lead me, and Thyright Hand shall hold me. '"

"Ah, you are right, " said Jane's deep earnest voice; "that is the best ofall. God's hand alone leads surely, out of darkness into light. "

She put a kind arm firmly around her friend, for a moment. 

Then:--"I will send him to you in an hour, " she said, and left the room. 

Lady Ingleby was alone. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE TEST

The door of Myra's sitting-room opened quietly, and Jim Airth came in. 

She awaited him upon the couch, sitting very still, her hands folded inher lap. 

The room seemed full of flowers, and of soft sunset light. 

He closed the door, and came and stood before her. 

For a few moments they looked steadily into one another's faces. 

Then Jim Airth spoke, very low. 

"It is so good of you to see me, " he said. "It is almost more than I hadventured to hope. I am leaving England in a few hours. It would have beenhard to go--without this. Now it will be easy. "

She lifted her eyes to his, and waited in silence. 

"Myra, " he said, "can you forgive me?"

"I do not know, Jim, " she answered, gently. "I want to be quite honestwith you, and with myself. If I had cared less, I could have forgivenmore easily. "

"I know, " he said. "Oh, Myra, I know. And I would not have you forgivelightly, so great a sin against our love. But, dear--if, before I go, youcould say, 'I understand, ' it would mean almost more to me, than if yousaid, 'I forgive. '"

"Jim, " said Myra, gently, a tremor of tenderness in her sweet voice, "Iunderstand. "

He came quite near, and took her hands in his, holding them for a moment, with tender reverence. 

"Thank you, dear, " he said. "You are very good. "

He loosed her hands, and again she folded them in her lap. He walked tothe mantelpiece and stood looking down upon the ferns and lilies. 

She marked the stoop of his broad shoulders; the way in which he seemedto find it difficult to hold up his head. Where was the proud gaycarriage of the man who swung along the Cornish cliffs, whistling like ablackbird?

"Jim, " she said, "understanding fully, of course I forgive fully, if itis possible that between you and me, forgiveness should pass. I have beenthinking it over, since I knew you were in the house, and wondering why Ifeel it so impossible to say, 'I forgive you. ' And, Jim--I think it isbecause you and I are so _one_ that there is no room for such a thing asforgiveness to pass from me to you, or from you to me. Completecomprehension and unfailing love, take the place of what would beforgiveness between those who were less to each other. "

He lifted his eyes, for a moment, full of a dumb anguish, which wrung herheart. 

"Myra, I must go, " he said, brokenly. "There was so much I had to tellyou; so much to explain. But all need of this seems swept away by yourdivine tenderness and comprehension. All my life through I shall carrywith me, deep hidden in my heart, these words of yours. Oh, my dear--mydear! Don't speak again! Let them be the last. Only--may I say it?--neverlet thoughts of me, sadden your fair life. I am going to America--a grandplace for fresh beginnings; a land where one can work, and truly live; aland where earnest endeavour meets with fullest success, and where aman's energy may have full scope. I want you to think of me, Myra, asliving, and working, and striving; not going under. But, if ever I feellike going under, I shall hear your dear voice singing at my shoulder, inthe little Cornish church, on the quiet Sabbath evening, in the sunset:'Eternal Father, strong to save, ' . .. And--when I think of you, mydear--my dear; I shall know your life is being good and beautiful everyhour, and that you are happy with--" he lifted his eyes to Lord Ingleby'sportrait; they dwelt for a moment on the kind quiet face--"with one ofthe best of men, " said Jim Airth, bravely

He took a last look at her face. Silent tears stole slowly down it, andfell upon her folded hands. 

A spasm of anguish shot across Jim Airth's set features. 

"Ah, I must go, " he said, suddenly. "God keep you, always. "

He turned so quickly, that his hand was actually upon the handle of thedoor, before Myra reached him, though she sprang up, and flew across theroom. 

"Jim, " she said, breathlessly. "Stop, Jim! Ah, stop! Listen! Wait!--Jim, I have always known--I told Jane so--that if I forgave you, I could notlet you go. " She flung her arms around his neck, as he stood gazing ather in dumb bewilderment. "Jim, my belovèd! I cannot let you go; or, ifyou go, you must take me with you. I cannot live without you, JimAirth!"

For the space of a dozen heart-beats he stood silent, while she hungaround him; her head upon his breast, her clinging arms about his neck. 

Then a cry so terrible burst from him, that Myra's heart stood still. 

"Oh, my God, " he cried, "this is the worst of all! Have I, in falling, dragged _her_ down? Now, indeed am I broken--broken. What was the loss ofmy own pride, my own honour, my own self-esteem, to this? Have I soiledher fair whiteness; weakened the noble strength of her sweet purity? Oh, not this--my God, not this!"

He lifted his hands to his neck, took hers by the wrists, and forciblydrew them down, stepping back a pace, so that she must lift her head. 

Then, holding her hands against his breast: "Lady Ingleby, " he said, "lift your eyes, and look into my face. "

Slowly--slowly--Myra lifted her grey eyes. The fire of his held her; shefelt the strength of him mastering her, as it had often done before. Shecould scarcely see the anguish in his face, so vivid was the blaze of hisblue eyes. 

"Lady Ingleby, " he said, and the grip of his hands on hers, tightened. "Lady Ingleby--we stood like this together, you and I, on a fastnarrowing strip of sand. The cruel sea swept up, relentless. A high cliffrose in front--our only refuge. I held you thus, and said: 'We mustclimb--or drown. ' Do you remember?--I say it now, again. The onlypossible right thing to do is steep and difficult; but we must climb. Wemust mount above our lower selves; away from this narrowing strip ofdangerous sand; away from this cruel sea of fierce temptation; up to thebreezy cliff-top, up to the blue above, into the open of honour and rightand perfect purity. You stood there, until now; you stood there--braveand beautiful. I dragged you down--God forgive me, I brought you intodanger--Hush! listen! You must climb again; you must climb alone; butwhen I am gone, your climbing will be easy. You will soon find yourselfstanding, safe and high, above these treacherous dangerous waters. Forgive me, if I seem rough. " He forced her gently backwards to thecouch. "Sit there, " he said, "and do not rise, until I have left thehouse. And if ever these moments come back to you, Lady Ingleby, remember, the whole blame was mine. .. . Hush, I tell you; hush! And willyou loose my hands?"

But Myra clung to those big hands, laughing, and weeping, and striving tospeak. 

"Oh, Jim--my Jim!--you can't leave me to climb alone, because I am allyour own, and free to be yours and no other man's, and together, thankGod, we can stand on the cliff-top where His hand has led us. Dearest--Jim, dearest--don't pull away from me, because I must cling on, until you have read these telegrams. Oh, Jim, read them quickly! . .. SirDeryck Brand brought them down from town this afternoon. And oh, forgiveme that I did not tell you at once. .. . I wanted you to prove yourself, what I knew you to be, faithful, loyal, honourable, brave, the man of allmen whom I trust; the man who will never fail me in the upward climb, until we stand together beneath the blue on the heights of God's eternalhills. .. . Oh, Jim----"

Her voice faltered into silence; for Jim Airth knelt at her feet, hishead in her lap, his arms flung around her, and he was sobbing as only astrong man can sob, when his heart has been strained to breaking point, and sudden relief has come. 

Myra laid her hands, gently, upon the roughness of his hair. Thus theystayed long, without speaking or moving. 

And in those sacred minutes Myra learned the lesson which ten years ofwedded life had failed to teach: that in the strongest man there is, sometimes, the eternal child--eager, masterful, dependent, full ofneeds; and that, in every woman's love there must therefore be anelement of the eternal mother--tender, understanding, patient; wise, yetself-surrendering; able to bear; ready to forgive; her strength madeperfect in weakness. 

At length Jim Airth lifted his head. 

The last beams of the setting sun, entering through the western window, illumined, with a ray of golden glory, the lovely face above him. But hesaw on it a radiance more bright than the reflected glory of any earthlysunset. 

"Myra?" he said, awe and wonder in his voice. "Myra? What is it?"

And clasping her hands about his neck as he knelt before her, she drewhis head to her breast, and answered:

"I have learnt a lesson, my belovèd; a lesson only you could teach. And Iam very happy and thankful, Jim; because I know, that at last, I--evenI--am ready for wifehood. "

CHAPTER XXVI

"WHAT SHALL WE WRITE?"

The hall at the Moorhead Inn seemed very homelike to Jim Airth and Myra, as they stood together looking around it, on their arrival. 

Jim had set his heart upon bringing his wife there, on the evening oftheir wedding day. Therefore they had left town immediately after theceremony; dined _en route_, and now stood, as they had so often stoodbefore when bidding one another good-night, in the lamp-light, beside themarble table. 

"Oh, Jim dear, " whispered Myra, throwing back her travelling cloak, "doesn't it all seem natural? Look at the old clock! Five minutes pastten. The Miss Murgatroyds must have gone up, in staid procession, exactlyfour minutes ago. Look at the stag's head! There is the antler, on thetopmost point of which you always hung your cap. "

"Myra----"

"Yes, dear. Oh, I hope the Murgatroyds are still here. Let's look in thebook. .. . Yes, see! Here are their names with date of arrival, but none ofdeparture. And, oh, dearest, here is 'Jim Airth, ' as I first saw itwritten; and look at 'Mrs. O'Mara' just beneath it! How well I rememberglancing back from the turn of the staircase, seeing you come out andread it, and wishing I had written it better. You can set me plenty ofcopies now, Jim. "

"Myra!----"

"Yes, dear. Do you know I am going to fly up and unpack. Then I will comeout to the honeysuckle arbour and sit with you while you smoke. And weneed not mind being late; because the dear ladies, not knowing we havereturned, will not all be sleeping with doors ajar. But oh Jim, you_must_--however late it is--plump your boots out into the passage, justfor the fun of making Miss Susannah's heart jump unexpectedly. "

"Myra! Oh, I say! My wife----"

"Yes, darling, I know! But I am perfectly certain 'Aunt Ingleby' ispeeping out of her little office at the end of the passage; also, Pollyhas finished helping Sam place our luggage upstairs, and I can _feel_her, hanging over the top banisters! Be patient for just a little while, my Jim. Let's put our names in the visitors' book. What shall we write?Really we shall be obliged eventually to let them know who you are. Thinkwhat an excitement for the Miss Murgatroyds. But, just for once, I amgoing to write myself down by the name, of all others, I have most wishedto bear. "

So, smiling gaily up at her husband, then bending over the table to hideher happy face from the adoration of his eyes, the newly-made Countess ofAirth and Monteith took up the pen; and, without pausing to remove herglove, wrote in the visitors' book of the Moorhead Inn, in the clear boldhandwriting peculiarly her own:

Mrs. Jim Airth

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THE MASTER'S VIOLINBy MYRTLE REED

A Love Story with a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old Germanvirtuoso is the reverent possessor of a genuine Cremona. He consents totake as his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude fortechnique, but not the soul of the artist. The youth has led the happy, careless life of a modern, well-to-do young American, and he cannot, withhis meagre past, express the love, the longing, the passion and thetragedies of life and its happy phases as can the master who has livedlife in all its fulness. But a girl comes into his existence, a beautifulbit of human driftwood that his aunt had taken into her heart and home;and through his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that lifehas to give--and his soul awakens. 

Founded on a fact well known among artists, but not often recognized ordiscussed. 

If you have not read "Lavender and Old Lace" by the same author, you havea double pleasure in store--for these two books show Myrtle Reed in hermost delightful, fascinating vein--indeed they may be considered asmasterpieces of compelling interest. 

Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted FictionGROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK

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THE PRODIGAL JUDGEBy VAUGHAN KESTER

This great novel--probably the most popular book in this countryto-day--is as human as a story from the pen of that great master of"immortal laughter and immortal tears, " Charles Dickens. 

The Prodigal Judge is a shabby outcast, a tavern hanger-on, a genialwayfarer who tarries longest where the inn is most hospitable, yet withthat suavity, that distinctive politeness and that saving grace of humorpeculiar to the American man. He has his own code of morals--very exaltedones--but honors them in the breach rather than in the observance. 

Clinging to the Judge closer than a brother, is Solomon Mahaffy--fallibleand failing like the rest of us, but with a sublime capacity forfriendship; and closer still, perhaps, clings little Hannibal, a boyabout whose parentage nothing is known until the end of the story. Hannibal is charmed into tolerance of the Judge's picturesque vices, while Miss Betty, lovely and capricious, is charmed into placing all heraffairs, both material and sentimental, in the hands of this delightfulold vagabond. 

The Judge will be a fixed star in the firmament of fictional charactersas surely as David Harum or Col. Sellers. He is a source of infinitedelight, while this story of Mr. Roster's is one of the finest examplesof American literary craftmanship. 

Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted FictionGROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK