is 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 touch
in friendship."

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

"You are the man," she said, "whose little finger is dearer to me than
the whole body of any one else has ever been. Do you suppose I will give
you 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 a
woman's heart! Shall I tell you what I felt when Billy told me, after the
first bewildering shock was over? First: sorrow for you, my dearest; a
realisation of how appalling the mental anguish must have been, at the
time. Secondly: thankfulness--yes, intense overwhelming thankfulness--to
know at last what had come between us; and to know it was this
thing--this mere ghost out of the past--nothing tangible or real; no
wrong of mine against you, or of yours against me; nothing which need
divide us."

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

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

The strength of his will mastered hers; and, just as in Horseshoe Cove
her fears had yielded to his dauntless courage, so now Myra felt her
confidence ebbing away before his stern resolve. Fearful of losing it
altogether, 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 hastily
toward her, buried her face in them, fearing again to meet the settled
sadness 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. That
would be absurd from me to you. I love you as I did not know it was
possible for a man to love a woman. I love you in such a way that every
fibre of my being will hunger for you night and day--through all the
years to come. But--well, it would always have come hard to me to stand
in another man's shoe