the dead past bury its dead. No
need to cloud, even momentarily, the joy with which they could now go
forward into a new life. And what a life! Wedded life with Myra----

"Shenstone Junction!" shouted a porter and Jim Airth was across the
platform before the train had stopped.

The tandem ponies waited outside the station, and this time Jim Airth
gathered up the reins with a gay smile, flicking the leader, lightly.
Before, he had said: "I never drive other people's ponies," in response
to "Her ladyship's" message; but now--"All that's mine, is thine,
laddie."

He whistled "Huntingtower," as he drove between the hayfields. Sprays of
overhanging traveller's-joy brushed his shoulder in the narrow lanes. It
was good to be alive on such a day. It was good not to be leaving
England, in England's most perfect weather.... Should he take her home to
Scotland for their honeymoon, or down to Cornwall?

What a jolly little church!

Evidently Myra never slacked pace for a gate. How the ponies dashed
through, and into the avenue!

Poor Mrs. O'Mara! It had been difficult to be civil to her, when she had
appeared instead of Myra to give him tea.

Of course Scotland would be jolly, with so much to show her; but Cornwall
meant more, in its associations. Yes; he would arrange for the honeymoon
in Cornwall; be married in the morning, up in town; no fuss; then go
straight down to the old Moorhead Inn. And after dinner, they would sit
in the honeysuckle arbour, and----

Groatley showed him into Myra's sitting-room.

She was not there.

He walked over to the mantelpiece. It seemed years since that evening
when, in a sudden fury against Fate, he had crashed his fists upon its
marble edge. He raised his eyes to Lord Ingleby's portrait. Poor old
chap! He looked so content, and so pleased with himself, and his little
dog. But he must have always appeared more like Myra's father than
her--than anything else.

On the mantelpiece lay a telegram. 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.

"Myra!" he cried, and caught her to his heart.

The rapture and relief of that moment were un