GOLDEN DAYS
The week which followed was one of ideal joy and holiday. Both knew,
instinctively, that no after days could ever be quite as these first
days. They were an experience which came not again, and must be realised
and enjoyed with whole-hearted completeness.
At first Jim Airth talked with determination of a special licence, and
pleaded for no delay. But Lady Ingleby, usually vague to a degree on all
questions of law or matters of business, fortunately felt doubtful as to
whether it would be wise to be married in a name other than her own; and,
though she might have solved the difficulty by at once revealing her
identity to Jim Airth, she was anxious to choose her own time and place
for this revelation, and had set her heart upon making it amid the
surroundings of her own beautiful home at Shenstone.
"You see, Jim," she urged, "I _have_ a few friends in town and at
Shenstone, who take an interest in my doings; and I could hardly reappear
among them married! Could I, Jim? It would seem such an unusual and
unexpected termination to a rest-cure. Wouldn't it, Jim?"
Jim Airth's big laugh brought Miss Susie to the window. It caused sad
waste of Susannah's time, that her window looked out on the honeysuckle
arbour.
"It might make quite a run on rest-cures," said Jim Airth.
"Ah, but they couldn't all meet _you_," said Myra; and the look he
received from those sweet eyes, atoned for the vague inaccuracy of the
rejoinder.
So they agreed to have one week of this free untrammelled life, before
returning to the world of those who knew them; and he promised to come
and see her in her own home, before taking the final steps which should
make her altogether his.
So they went gay walks along the cliffs in the breezy sunshine; and Myra,
clinging to Jim's arm, looked down from above upon their ledge.
They revisited Horseshoe Cove at low water, and Jim Airth spent hours
cutting the hurried niches into proper steps, so as to leave a staircase
to the ledge, up which people, who chanced in future to be caught by the
tide, might climb to safety. Myra sat on the beach and watched him, her
eyes alight with tender memories; but she absolutely refused to mount
again.
"No, Jim," she said; "not until we come here on our honeymoon. Then, if
you wish, you shall take your wife back to the place where we passed
those wonderful hours. But not now."
Jim, who expected always to have his own way, unless he was given
excellent reasons in black and white for not having it, was about to
expostulate and insist, when he saw tears on her lashes and a quiver of
the sweet smiling lips, and gave in at once without further question.
They hired a tent, and pitched it on the shore at Tregarth, Myra
telegraphed for a bathing-dress, and Jim went into the sea in his
flannels and tried to teach her to swim, holding her up beneath her chin
and saying; "One, two! ONE, TWO!" far louder than Myra had ever had it
said to her before. Thus, amid much splashing and laughter, Lady Ingleby
accomplished her swim of ten yards.
Miss Murgatroyd was shocked; nay, more than shocked. Miss Murgatroyd was
scandalised! She took to her bed forthwith, expecting Miss Eliza and Miss
Susannah to follow her example--in the spirit, if not to the letter. But,
released from Amelia's personal supervision, romantic little Susie led
Eliza astray; and the two took a furtive and fearful joy in seeing all
they could of the "goings on" of the couple who had boldly converted the
prosaic Cornish hotel into a land of excitement and romance.
From the moment when on the morning after their adventure, Myra, with
yellow roses in the belt of her white gown, had swept into the
coffee-room at five minutes past nine, saying: "My dear Jim, have I kept
you waiting? I hope the coffee is not cold?"--all life had seemed
transformed to Miss Susie. Turning quickly, she had caught the look Jim
Airth gave to the lovely woman who took her place opposite him at his
hitherto lonely table, and, still smiling into his eyes, lifted the
coffee-pot.
Amelia's stern whisper had recalled her to her senses, and prevented any
further glancing round; but she had heard Myra say: "I forgot your sugar,
Jim. One lump, or two?" and Jim Airth's reply: "As usual, thanks, dear,"
not knowing, that with a silent twinkle of fun, he laid an envelope over
his cup, as a sign to Myra, waiting with poised sugar-tongs, that "as
usual" meant no sugar at all!
Later on, when she one day met Lady Ingleby alone in a passage, Miss
Susannah ventured two hurried questions.
"Oh, tell me, my dear! Is it _really_ true that you are going to marry
Mr. Airth? And have you known him long?"
And Myra smiling down into Susie's plump anxious face replied: "Well, as
a matter of fact, Miss Susannah, Jim Airth is going to marry _me_. And I
cannot explain how long I have known him. I seem to have known him all my
life."
"Ah," whispered Miss Susannah with a knowing smile of conscious
perspicacity; "Eliza and I felt sure it was a tiff."
This remark appeared absolutely incomprehensible to Lady Ingleby; and not
until she had repeated it to Jim, and he had shouted with laughter, and
called her a bare-faced deceiver, did she realise that the "tiff" was
supposed to have been operative during the whole time she and Jim Airth
had sat at separate tables, and showed no signs of acquaintance.
However, she smiled kindly into the archly nodding face. Then, in the
consciousness of her own great happiness, enveloped little Susie in her
beautiful arms, and kissed her.
Miss Susannah never forgot that embrace. It was to her a reflected
realisation of what it must be to be loved by Jim Airth. And, thereafter,
whenever Miss Murgatroyd saw fit to use such adjectives as "indecent,"
"questionable," or "highly improper," Miss Susie bravely gathered up her
wool-work, and left the room.
Thus the golden days went by, and a letter came for Jim Airth from Lady
Ingleby's secretary. Her ladyship was away at present but would be
returning to Shenstone on the following Monday, and would be pleased to
give him an interview on Tuesday afternoon. The two o'clock express from
Charing Cross would be met at Shenstone station, unless he wrote
suggesting another.
"Now that is very civil," said Jim to Myra, as he passed her the letter,
"and how well it suits our plans. We had already arranged both to go up
to town on Monday, and you on to Shenstone. So I can come down by that
two o'clock train on Tuesday, get my interview with Lady Ingleby over as
quickly as may be, and dash off to my girl at the Lodge. I hope to
goodness she won't want to give me tea!"
"Which 'she'?" asked Myra, smiling. "_I_ shall certainly want to give you
tea."
"Then I shall decline Lady Ingleby's," said Jim with decision.
Even during those wonderful days he went on steadily with his book, Myra
sitting near him in the smoking-room, writing letters or reading, while
he worked. "I do better work if you are within reach, or at all events,
within sight," Jim had said; and it was impossible that Lady Ingleby's
mind should not have contrasted the thrill of pleasure this gave her,
with the old sense of being in the way if work was to be done; and of
being shut out from the chief interests of Michael's life, by the closing
of the laboratory door. Ah, how different from the way in which Jim
already made her a part of himself, enfolding her into his every
interest.
She wrote fully of her happiness to Mrs. Dalmain, telling her in detail
the unusual happenings which had brought it so rapidly to pass. Also a
few lines to her old friend the Duchess of Meldrum, merely announcing the
fact of her engagement and the date of her return to Shenstone, promising
full particulars later. This letter held also a message for Ronald and
Billy, should they chance to be at Overdene.
Sunday evening, their last at Tregarth, came all too soon. They went to
the little church together, sitting among the simple fisher folk at
Evensong. As they looked over one hymn book, and sang "Eternal Father,
strong to save," both thought of "Davy Jones" in the middle of the hymn,
and had to exchange a smile; yet with an instant added reverence of
petition and thanksgiving.
"Thus evermore, shall rise to Thee,
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea."
Jim Airth's big bass boomed through the little church; and Myra, close to
his shoulder, sang with a face so radiant that none could doubt the
reality of her praise.
Then back to a cold supper at the Moorhead Inn; after which they strolled
out to the honeysuckle arbour for Jim's evening pipe, and a last quiet
talk.
It was then that Jim Airth said, suddenly: "By the way I wish you would
tell me more about Lady Ingleby. What kind of a woman is she? Easy to
talk to?"
For a moment Myra was taken aback. "Why, Jim--I hardly know. Easy? Yes, I
think _you_ will find her easy to talk to."
"Does she speak of her husband's death, or is it a tabooed subject?"
"She speaks of it," said Myra, softly, "to those who can understand."
"Ah! Do you suppose she will like to hear details of those last days?"
"Possibly; if you feel inclined to give them, Jim--do you know who did
it?"
A surprised silence in the arbour. Jim removed his pipe, and looked at
her.
"Do I know--who--did--what?" he asked slowly.
"Do you know the name of the man who made the mistake which killed Lord
Ingleby?"
Jim returned his pipe to his mouth.
"Yes, dear, I do," he said, quietly. "But how came you to know of the
blunder? I thought the whole thing was hushed up, at home."
"It was," said Myra; "but Lady Ingleby was told, and I heard it then.
Jim, if she asked you the name, should you tell her?"
"Certainly I should," replied Jim Airth. "I was strongly opposed, from
the first, to any mystery being made about it. I hate a hushing-up
policy. But there was the fellow's future to consider. The world never
lets a thing of that sort drop. He would always have been pointed out as
'The chap who killed Ingleby'--just as if he had done it on purpose; and
every man of us knew that would be a millstone round the neck of any
career. And then the whole business had been somewhat irregular; and 'the
powers that be' have a way of taking all the kudos, if experiments are
successful; and making a what-on-earth-were-you-dreaming-of row, if they
chance to be a failure. Hence the fact that we are all such
stick-in-the-muds, in the service. Nobody dares be original. The risks
are too great, and too astonishingly unequal. If you succeed, you get a
D.S.O. from a grateful government, and a laurel crown from an admiring
nation. If you fail, an indignant populace derides your name, and a
pained and astonished government claps you into jail. That's not the way
to encourage progress, or make fellows prompt to take the initiative. The
right or the wrong of an action should not be determined by its success
or failure."
Lady Ingleby's mind had paused at the beginning of Jim's tirade.
"They could not have taken Michael's kudos," she said. "It must have been
patented. He was always most careful to patent all his inventions."
"Eh, what?" said Jim Airth. "Oh, I see. 'Kudos,' my dear girl, means
'glory'; not a new kind of explosive. And why do you call Lord Ingleby
'Michael'?"
"I knew him intimately," said Lady Ingleby.
"I see. Well, as I was saying, I protested about the hushing up, but was
talked over; and the few who knew the facts pledged their word of honour
to keep silence. Only, the name was to be given to Lady Ingleby, if she
desired to know it; and some of us thought you might as well put it in
_The Times_ at once, as tell a woman. Then we heard she had decided not
to know."
"What do you think of her decision?" asked Lady Ingleby.
"I think it proved her to be a very just-minded woman, and a very unusual
one, if she keeps to it. But it would be rather like a woman, to make a
fine decision such as that during the tension of a supreme moment, and
then indulge in private speculation afterwards."
"Did you hear her reason, Jim? She said she did not wish that a man
should walk this earth, whose hand she could not bring herself to touch
in friendship."
"Poor loyal soul!" said Jim Airth, greatly moved. "Myra, if _I_ got
accidentally done for, as Ingleby was,--should _you_ feel so, for my
sake?"
"No!" cried Myra, passionately. "If I lost _you_, my belovèd, I should
never want to touch any other man's hand, in friendship or otherwise, as
long as I lived!"
"Ah," mused Jim Airth. "Then you don't consider Lady Ingleby's reason for
her decision proved a love such as ours?"
Myra laid her beautiful head against his shoulder.
"Jim," she said, brokenly, "I do not feel myself competent to discuss any
other love. One thing only is clear to me;--I never realised what love
meant, until I knew _you_."
A long silence in the honeysuckle arbour.
Then Jim Airth cried almost fiercely to the woman in his arms: "Can you
really think you have been right to keep me waiting, even for a day?"
And she who loved him with a love beyond expression could frame no words
in answer to that question. Thus it came to pass that, in the days to
come, it was there, unanswered; ready to return and beat upon her brain
with merciless reiteration: "Was I right to keep him waiting, even for a
day."
* * * * *
In the hall, beside the marble table, where lay the visitors' book, they
paused to say good-night. From the first, Myra had never allowed him up
the stairs until her door was closed. "If you don't keep the rules I
think it right to make, Jim," she had said, with her little tender smile,
"I shall, in self-defence, engage Miss Murgatroyd as chaperon; and what
sort of a time would you have then?"
So Jim was pledged to remain below until her door had been shut five
minutes. After which he used to tramp up the stairs whistling:
"A long long life, to my sweet wife,
And mates at sea;
And keep our bones from Davy Jones,
Where'er we be.
And may you meet a mate as sweet----"
Then his door would bang, and Myra would venture to give vent to her
suppressed laughter, and to sing a soft little
"Yeo ho! we go!--Yeo ho! Yeo ho!"
for sheer overflowing happiness.
But this was the last evening. A parting impended. Also there had been
tense moments in the honeysuckle arbour.
Jim's blue eyes were mutinous. He stood holding her hands against his
breast, as he had done in Horseshoe Cove, when the waves swept round
their feet, and he had cried: "You _must_ climb!"
"So to-morrow night," he said, "you will be at the Lodge, Shenstone; and
I, at my Club in town. Do you know how hard it is to be away from you,
even for an hour? Do you realise that if you had not been so obstinate we
never need have been parted at all? We could have gone away from here,
husband and wife together. If you had really cared, you wouldn't have
wanted to wait."
Myra smiled up into his angry eyes.
"Jim," she whispered, "it is _so_ silly to say: '_If_ you had really
cared'; because you know, perfectly well, that I care for you, more than
any woman in the world has ever cared for any man before! And I do assure
you, Jim, that you couldn't have married me _validly_ from here--and
think how awful it would be, to love as much as we love and then find out
that we were not _validly_ married--and when you come to my home, and
fetch me away from there, you will admit--yes really _admit_--that I was
right. You will have to apologise humbly for having said 'Bosh!' so
often. Jim--dearest! Look at the clock! I _must_ go. Poor Miss Murgatroyd
will grow so tired of listening for us. She always leaves her door a
crack open. So does Miss Susannah. They have all taken to sleeping with
their doors ajar. I deftly led the conversation round to riddles
yesterday, when I was alone with them for a few minutes, and asked
sternly: 'When is a door, not a door?' They all answered: 'When it is a
jar!' quite unabashed; and Miss Eliza asked another! I believe Susie
stands at her crack, in the darkness, in hopes of seeing you march by....
No, don't say naughty words. They are dears, all three of them; and we
shall miss them horribly to-morrow. Oh, Jim--I've just had such a
brilliant idea! I shall ask them to be my bridesmaids! Can't you see them
following me up the aisle? It would be worse than the duchess giving Jane
away. Ah, you don't know that story? I will tell it you, some day. Jim,
say 'Good-night' quickly, and let me go."
"Once," said Jim Airth, tightening his grasp on her wrists--"once, Myra,
we said no 'good-night,' and no 'good-morning.'"
"Jim, darling!" said Myra, gently; "on that night, before I went to
sleep, you said to me: 'We are not alone. _God is here_.' And then you
repeated part of the hundred and thirty-ninth psalm. And, Jim--I thought
you the best and strongest man I had ever known; and I felt that, all my
life, I should trust you, as I trusted my God."
Jim Airth loosed the hands he had held so tightly, and kissed them very
gently. "Good-night, my sweetheart," he said, "and God bless you!" Then
he turned away to the marble table.
Myra ran swiftly up the stairs and closed her door.
Then she knelt beside her bed, and sobbed uncontrollably; partly for joy,
and partly for sorrow. The unanswered question commenced its reiteration:
"Ah, was I right to keep him waiting?"
Presently she lifted her head, held her breath, and stared into the
darkness. A vision seemed to pass across her room. A tall, bearded man,
in evening clothes. In his arms a tiny dog, peeping at her through its
curls, as if to say: "_I_ have the better place. Where do _you_ come in?"
The tall man turned at the door. "Good-night, my dear Myra," he said,
kindly.
The vision passed.
Lady Ingleby buried her face in the bedclothes. "That--for ten long
years!" she said. Then, in the darkness, she saw the mutinous fire of Jim
Airth's blue eyes, and felt the grip of his strong hands on hers. "How
can I say 'Good-night'?" protested his deep voice, passionately. And,
with a rush of happy tears, Myra clasped her hands, whispering: "Dear
God, am I at last to know the Best?"
And up the stairs came Jim Airth, whistling like a nightingale. But, as a
concession to Miss Murgatroyd's ideas concerning suitable Sabbath music,
he discarded "Nancy Lee," and whistled:
"Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave;
Who bidst the mighty ocean deep,
Its own appointed limits keep,
O hear us, when we cry to Thee----"
And, kneeling beside her bed, in the darkness, Myra made of it her
evening prayer.