ed, "am I to know the Best?"

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

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

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

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

"Hullo!" he said. "I meant to keep watch all the time; but I must have
slept. Are you all right? Sure? No cramp? Well, I have a cramp in my left
leg which will make me kick down the cliff in another minute, if I don't
move 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't
it seem years since you said: 'And who is Davy Jones?' Don't you want
some breakfast? I suppose it's about time we went home."

Talking gaily all the time, Jim Airth drew up his long limbs, rubbing
them vigorously; stretched his arms above his head; then passed his hand
over 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 same
dawn-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 what
delicious 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 ever
before see the dawn? Is it not wonderful? Always more of pearl and silver
than at sunset. Look how the narrow rift has widened and spread right
across the sky. The Monarch of Day is coming! See the little herald
clouds, in livery of pink and gold. Now watch where the sea looks
brightest. Ah!... There is the tip of his blood-red rim, rising out of
the ocean. And how quickly the whole ball appears. Now see the rippling
path of gold and crimson, a royal highway on the waters, right from the
shore below us, to the footstool of his brilliant Majesty.... A new day
has begun; and we have not said 'Good-morning.' Why should we? We did not
say 'Good-night.' How ideal it would be, never to say 'Good-morning'; and
never to say 'Good-night.' The night would be always 'good', and so would
the morning. All life would be one grand crescendo of good--