upon the ferns and lilies.

She marked the stoop of his broad shoulders; the way in which he seemed
to find it difficult to hold up his head. Where was the proud gay
carriage of the man who swung along the Cornish cliffs, whistling like a
blackbird?

"Jim," she said, "understanding fully, of course I forgive fully, if it
is possible that between you and me, forgiveness should pass. I have been
thinking it over, since I knew you were in the house, and wondering why I
feel it so impossible to say, 'I forgive you.' And, Jim--I think it is
because you and I are so _one_ that there is no room for such a thing as
forgiveness to pass from me to you, or from you to me. Complete
comprehension and unfailing love, take the place of what would be
forgiveness between those who were less to each other."

He lifted his eyes, for a moment, full of a dumb anguish, which wrung her
heart.

"Myra, I must go," he said, brokenly. "There was so much I had to tell
you; so much to explain. But all need of this seems swept away by your
divine tenderness and comprehension. All my life through I shall carry
with me, deep hidden in my heart, these words of yours. Oh, my dear--my
dear! Don't speak again! Let them be the last. Only--may I say it?--never
let thoughts of me, sadden your fair life. I am going to America--a grand
place for fresh beginnings; a land where one can work, and truly live; a
land where earnest endeavour meets with fullest success, and where a
man's energy may have full scope. I want you to think of me, Myra, as
living, and working, and striving; not going under. But, if ever I feel
like going under, I shall hear your dear voice singing at my shoulder, in
the little Cornish church, on the quiet Sabbath evening, in the sunset:
'Eternal Father, strong to save,' ... And--when I think of you, my
dear--my dear; I shall know your life is being good and beautiful every
hour, and that you are happy with--" he lifted his eyes to Lord Ingleby's
portrait; they dwelt for a moment on the kind quiet face--"with one of
the best of men," said Jim Airth, bravely

He took a last look at her face. Silent tears stole slowly down it, and
fell upon her folded hands.

A spasm of anguish shot across Jim Airth's set features.

"Ah, I must go," he said, suddenly. "God keep you, always."

He turned so quickly, that his hand was actually upon the handle of the
door, before Myra reached him, though she sprang up, and flew across the
room.

"Jim,