"Billy told me. He and Ronald Ingram came over yesterday afternoon, soon after you left. They had passed you, on your way to the station. They thought I ought to know. So Billy told me." Jim Airth's arms closed round her, holding her tightly. "My--poor--girl!" he said, brokenly. "They meant well, Jim. They are dear boys. They knew you would come back and tell me yourself; and they wanted to spare us both that pain. I am glad they did it. You were quite right when you said it had to be faced alone. I could not have been ready for your return, if I had not heard the truth, and had time to face it alone. I _am_ ready now, Jim." Jim Airth laid his 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.