your 'Good-night' to the otherwise
silent house."

"No, really? Does it make a noise?" said Jim Airth, ruefully. "Never
again----?"

"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. That
is, 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 of
the 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 as
though 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 feet
of width are as safe as forty. Change your position a bit." He put his
arm around her, and moved her so that she leant more completely against
the cliff at their backs. "Now forget the edge," he said, "and listen. I
am 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. And
Myra listened, absorbed and enchanted; every moment realising more fully,
as he unconsciously revealed it, the manly strength and honest simplicity
of his big nature, with its fun and its fire; its huge capacity for
enjoyment; its corresponding capacity for pain.

And, as she listened, her heart said: "Oh, my cosmopolitan cowboy! Thank
God you found no title in the book, to put you off. Thank God you found
no name which you could 'place,' relegating its poor possessor to the
ranks 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 behind
you your own identity'!"

CHAPTER XII

UNDER THE MORNING STAR

The night wore on.

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

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

It was a warm June night, and very still.

Jim Airth had moved along the ledge to the further end, and sat swinging
his legs over the edge.