n lighted his handsome face.

She came and stood before him, laying her hands upon his breast. He
wrapped his arms lightly about her. He saw she had something to say; and
he 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 I
shall be content. I want to have the right to be called 'Mrs. Jim
Airth.' I want more than all else beside, to be your wife. But--until
I am that; and may it be very soon! until you make me 'Mrs. Jim
Airth'--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 those
happy, loving eyes, but the joy in his own died out, leaving them merely
cold blue steel. His face slowly whitened, hardened, froze into lines of
silent misery. Then he moved back a step, and Myra's hands fell from
him.

"_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! Lord
Ingleby's widow?"

The furious misery of his voice stung Myra. Why should he resent the
noble name she bore, the high rank which was hers? Even if it placed her
socially far above him, had she not just expressed her readiness--her
longing--to resign all, for him? Had not her love already placed him on
the topmost pinnacle of her regard? Was it generous, was it worthy of Jim
Airth 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 not
think 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 questions
you like."

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

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

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

"Who is Mrs. O'Mara?"

"She is the widow of Sergeant O'Mara who fell at Targai. We both lost our
husbands in that disaster, Jim. She had been for many years my
maid-attendant. When she married the sergean