gazed unseeingly into the darkness; but she leaned a
little 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, Jim
Airth."

Her cheek was so close to the rough Norfolk jacket, that if it had moved
a 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 I
married chiefly to escape from a very unhappy home. Also I was very
young, and knew nothing--nothing of life, and nothing of love; and--how
can I explain, Jim Airth?--I have not learnt much during these ten long
years."

"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 Best
in life. Now--I know I was."

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

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

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

But, within himself, he was thinking rapidly, and much was becoming
clear.

Sergeant O'Mara! Was it possible? An exquisite refined woman such as
this, bearing about her the unmistakable hall-mark of high birth and
perfect breeding? The Sergeant was a fine fellow, and superior--but, good
Lord! _Her_ husband! Yet girls of eighteen do foolish things, and repent
ever after. A runaway match from an unhappy home; then cast off by her
relations, and now left friendless and alone. But--Sergeant O'Mara! Yet
no other O'Mara fell at Targai; and there _was_ some link between him and
Lord Ingleby.

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

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