Part 17 (1/2)

He stood for a minute on the terrace, taking in the matchless beauty of the place. Then his face grew sad and stern. ”What a home to leave,” he said; ”and to leave it, never to return!”

He still wore a look of sadness as he descended the steps leading to the flower garden, made his way along the narrow gravel paths; then stepped on to the soft turf of the lawn, and walked towards the clump of beeches.

Jim Airth--tall and soldierly, broad-shouldered and erect--might have made an excellent impression upon Lady Ingleby, had she watched his coming. But she kept her parasol between herself and her approaching guest.

In fact he drew quite near; near enough to distinguish the ripples of soft lace about, her feet, the long graceful sweep of her gown; and still she seemed unconscious of his close proximity.

He pa.s.sed beneath the beeches and stood before her. And, even then, the parasol concealed her face.

But Jim Airth was never at a loss, when sure of his ground. ”Lady Ingleby,” he said, with grave formality; ”I was told to----”

Then the parasol was flung aside, and he found himself looking down into the lovely laughing eyes of Myra.

To see Jim Airth's face change from its look of formal gravity to one of rapturous delight, was to Myra well worth the long effort of sitting immovable. He flung himself down before her with boyish abandon, and clasped both herself and her chair in his long arms.

”Oh, you darling!” he said, bending his face over hers, while his blue eyes danced with delight. ”Oh, Myra, what centuries since yesterday! How I have longed for you. I almost hoped you would after all have come to the station. How I have grudged wasting all this time in coming to call on old Lady Ingleby. Myra, has it seemed long to you? Do you realise, my dear girl, that it _can't_ go on any longer; that we cannot possibly live through another twenty-four hours of separation? But oh, you Tease! There was I, ramping with impatience at every wasted moment; and here were you, sitting under this tree, hiding your face and pretending to be Lady Ingleby! The astonished and astonis.h.i.+ng old party in the eyebrows, certainly pointed you out as Lady Ingleby when he started me off on my pilgrimage. I say, how lovely you look! What billowy softness! It wouldn't do for cliff-climbing; but its A.I. for sitting on lawns.... I can't help it! I must!”

”Jim,” said Myra, laughing and pus.h.i.+ng him away; ”what has come to you, you dearest old boy? You will really have to behave! We are not in the honeysuckle arbour. 'The astonis.h.i.+ng old party in the eyebrows' is most likely observing us from a window, and will have good cause to look astonished, if he sees you 'carrying on' in such a manner. Jim, how nice you look in your town clothes. I always like a grey frock-coat. Stand up, and let me see.... Oh, look at the green of the turf on those immaculate knees! What a pity. Did you don all this finery for me?”

”Of course not, silly!” said Jim Airth, rubbing his knees vigorously.

”When I haul you up cliffs, I wear old Norfolk coats; and when I duck you in the sea, I wear flannels. I considered this the correct attire in which to pay a formal call on Lady Ingleby; and now, before she has had a chance of being duly impressed by it, I have spoilt my knees hopelessly, wors.h.i.+pping at your shrine! Where is Lady Ingleby? Why doesn't she keep her appointments?”

”Jim,” said Myra, looking up at him with eyes full of unspeakable love, yet dancing with excitement and delight; ”Jim, do you admire this place?”

”This place?” cried Jim, stepping back a pace, so as to command a good view of the lake and woods beyond. ”It is absolutely perfect. We have nothing like this in Scotland. You can't beat for all round beauty a real old mellow lived-in English country seat; especially when you get a twenty acre lake, with islands and swans, all complete. And I suppose the woods beyond, as far as one can see, belong to the Inglebys--or rather, to Lady Ingleby. What a pity there is no son.”

”Jim,” said Myra, ”I have so looked forward to showing you my home.”

He stepped close to her at once. ”Then show it to me, dear,” he said. ”I would rather be alone with you in your own little home--I saw it, as we drove up--than waiting about, in this vast expanse of beauty, for Lady Ingleby.”

”Jim,” said Myra, ”do you remember a little tune I often hummed down in Cornwall; and, when you asked me what it was, I said you should hear the words some day?”

Jim looked puzzled. ”Really dear--you hummed so many little tunes----”

”Oh, I know,” said Myra; ”and I have not much ear. But this was very special. I want to sing it to you now. Listen!”

And looking up at him, her soft eyes full of love, Myra sang, with slight alterations of her own, the last verse of the old Scotch ballad, ”Huntingtower.”

”Blair in Athol's mine, Jamie, Fair Dunkeld is mine, laddie; Saint Johnstown's bower, And Huntingtower, And all that's mine, is thine, laddie.”

”Very pretty,” said Jim, ”but you've mixed it, my dear. Jamie bestowed all his possessions on the la.s.sie. You sang it the wrong way round.”

”No, no,” cried Myra, eagerly. ”There _is_ no wrong way round. Providing they both love, it does not really matter which gives. The one who happens to possess, bestows. If you were a cowboy, Jim, and you loved a woman with lands and houses, in taking her, you would take all that was hers.”

”I guess I'd take her out to my ranch and teach her to milk cows,”

laughed Jim Airth. Then turning about under the tree and looking in all directions: ”But seriously, Myra, where is Lady Ingleby? She should keep her appointments. We cannot waste our whole afternoon waiting here. I want my girl; and I want her in her own little home, alone. Cannot we find Lady Ingleby?”

Then Myra rose, radiant, and came and stood before him. The sunbeams shone through the beech leaves and danced in her grey eyes. She had never looked more perfect in her sweet loveliness. The man took it all in, and the glory of possession lighted his handsome face.