And that morning, Lady Ingleby was feeling strangely restful and at peace; not with any expectations of future happiness; but resigned to the inevitable; and less apart from Jim Airth. She had fallen asleep the night before beset by haunting memories of Cornwall and of their climb up the cliff. 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. Thus she sat watching the tennis with a little smile of content on her sweet face. "She is beginning to forget," thought Ronnie, exultant. "_My_ 'vantage!" he shouted significantly to Billy, over the net. "Deuce!" responded Billy, smashing down the ball with unnecessary violence. "No!" cried Ronnie. "Outside, my boy! Game and a 'love' set to me!" "Stay to lunch, boys," said Lady Ingleby, as the gong sounded; and they all three went gaily into the house. As they passed through the hall afterwards, their motor stood at the door; so they bade her good-bye, and turned to find their rackets. At that moment they heard the sharp ting of a bicycle bell. A boy had ridden up with a telegram. Groatley, waiting to see them off, took it; picked up a silver salver from the hall table, and followed Lady Ingleby to her sitting-room. There seemed so sudden a silence in the house, that Ronald and Billy with one accord stood listening. "Twenty minutes to two," said Billy, glancing at the clock. "Spirits are walking." The next moment a cry rang out from Lady Ingleby's sitting-room--a cry of such mingled bewilderment, wonder, and relief, that they looked at one another in amazement. Then without waiting to question or consider, they hastened to her. Lady Ingleby was standing in the middle of the room, an open telegram in her hand. "Jim," she was saying; "Oh, Jim!" Her face was so transfigured by thankfulness and joy, that neither Ronald nor Billy could frame a question. They merely gazed at her. "Oh, Billy! Oh, Ronald!" she said, "_He didn't do it!_ Oh think what this will mean to Jim Airth. Stop the boy! Quick! Bring me a telegram form. I must send for him at once.... Oh, Jim, Jim!.... He said he would give his life for the relief of the moment when some one should step into the tent and tell him he had not done it; and now I shall be that 'some one'!.... Oh, _how_ do you spell 'Piccadilly'.... Please call Groatley. If we lose no time, he may catch the three o'clock express.... Groatley, tell the boy to take this telegram and have it sent off immediately. Give him half-a-crown, and say he may keep the change.... Now boys.... Shut the door!" The whirlwind of excitement was succeeded by sudden stillness. Lady Ingleby sank upon the sofa, burying her face for a moment in the cushions.