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Jim Airth's big bass boomed through the little church; and Myra, close to his shoulder, sang with a face so radiant that none could doubt the reality of her praise. Then back to a cold supper at the Moorhead Inn; after which they strolled out to the honeysuckle arbour for Jim's evening pipe, and a last quiet talk.
For if ever two people faced death together, we have faced it; and, by God's mercy, here we are alive." Myra never forgot Jim Airth's prayer. Instinctively she knew it to be the first time he had voiced his soul's thanksgiving or petitions in the presence of another. Also she realised that, for the first time in her whole life, prayer became to her a reality.
One lump, or two?" and Jim Airth's reply: "As usual, thanks, dear," not knowing, that with a silent twinkle of fun, he laid an envelope over his cup, as a sign to Myra, waiting with poised sugar-tongs, that "as usual" meant no sugar at all! Later on, when she one day met Lady Ingleby alone in a passage, Miss Susannah ventured two hurried questions. "Oh, tell me, my dear!
Margot cried bitterly, and got into the boat. The old Acadian followed. The boat rowed away. "Adieu, et au revoir, cher Zac," said Margot, calling back and waving her hat. "Goo-oo-d by-ye," said Zac, in a wail of despair. For hours Zac stood looking after the boat in perfect silence. At last he turned away, gulping down a sigh. "Darned ef I know what on airth's the matter with me," he murmured.
At midnight she had awakened with a start, fancying herself on the ledge, and feeling that she was falling. But instantly Jim Airth's arms seemed to enfold her; she felt herself drawn into safety; then that exquisite sense of strength and rest was hers once more. So vivid had been the dream, that its effect remained with her when she rose.
She returned in two minutes to find Jim, very proud of his success, setting out a crusty home-made loaf, a large cheese, and a foaming tankard of ale. Lady Ingleby longed for tea, and had never in her life drunk ale out of a pewter pot. But not for worlds would she have spoiled Jim Airth's boyish delight in the success of his raid on the larder.
After the manner of leisurely country post-offices, the full address was written on the envelope. It caught Jim Airth's eye, and hardly conscious of doing so, he took it up and read it. "Lady Ingleby, Shenstone Park, England." He laid it down. "England?" he wondered, idly. "Who can have been wiring to her from abroad?" Then he turned. He had not heard her enter; but she was standing behind him.
But, even in what seemed likely to be her last moments, Lady Ingleby's unfailing instinct was to be tactful. "I am sure you would leave no woman in danger," she said; "and some, alas! might have been easier to save than I. Plump little Miss Susie would have floated." Jim Airth's big laugh rang out. "And Miss Murgatroyd could have sailed away in her cameo," he said.
"A mother of soldiers," her brain insisted, "must fall without screaming." Then A long arm shot down from above; a strong hand gripped her firmly. "One step more," said Jim Airth's voice, close to her ear, "and I can lift you." She made the effort, and he drew her on to the ledge beside him. "Thank you very much," said Lady Ingleby. "And who was Davy Jones?"
It is a pretty little house, standing by itself, just inside the north entrance." "Do you rent it from them?" Myra hesitated, but only for the fraction of a second. "No; it is my own. Lord Ingleby gave it to me." "Lord Ingleby?" Jim Airth's voice sounded like knitted brows. "Why not Lady Ingleby?" "It was not hers, to give. All that is hers, was his." "I see. Which of them did you know first?"
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