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 sergeant, a fine soldier whom Michael held in high esteem, I wished still to keep her near me. Michael had given me the Lodge to do with as I pleased. I put them into it. She lives there still. Oh, Jim dearest, try to realise that I have not said one word to you which was not completely truthful! Let me explain how I came to be in Cornwall under her name instead of my own. If I might put my hand in yours, Jim, I could tell you more easily.... No? Very well; never mind.