When Lady Ingleby opened her eyes, she could not, for a moment, imagine where she was.

Dawn was breaking over the sea. A rift of silver, in the purple sky, had taken the place of the morning star. She could see the silvery gleam reflected in the ocean.

“Why am I sleeping so close to a large window?” queried her bewildered mind. “Or am I on a balcony?”

“Why do I feel so extraordinarily strong and rested?” questioned her slowly awakening body.

She lay quite still and considered the matter.

Then looking down, she saw a large brown hand clasping both hers. Her head was resting in the curve of the arm to which the hand belonged. A strong right arm was flung over and around her. All questionings were solved by two short words: “Jim Airth.”

Lady Ingleby lay very still. She feared to break the deep spell of restfulness which held her. She hesitated to bring down to earth the exquisite sense of heaven, by which she was surrounded.

As the dawn broke over the sea, a wonderful light dawned in her eyes, a radiance such as had never shone in those sweet eyes before. “Dear God,” she whispered, “am I to know the Best?”

Then she gently withdrew one hand, and laid it on the hand which had covered both.

“Jim,” she said. “Jim! Look! It is day.”

“Yes?” came Jim Airth’s voice from behind her. “Yes? What? come in!—Hullo! Oh, I say!”

Myra smiled into the dawning. She had already come through those first moments of astonished realisation. But Jim Airth awoke to the situation more quickly than she had done.

“Hullo!” he said. “I meant to keep watch all the time; but I must have slept. Are you all right? Sure? No cramp? Well, I have a cramp in my left leg which will make me kick down the cliff in another minute, if I don’t move it. Let me help you up.... That’s the way. Now you sit safely there, while I get unwedged.... By Jove! I believe I’ve grown into the cliff, like a fossil ichthyosaurus. Did you ever see an ichthyosaurus? Doesn’t it seem years since you said: ‘And who is Davy Jones?’ Don’t you want some breakfast? I suppose it’s about time we went home.”

Talking gaily all the time, Jim Airth drew up his long limbs, rubbing them vigorously; stretched his arms above his head; then passed his hand over his tumbled hair.

“My wig!” he said. “What a morning! And how good to be alive!”

Myra stole a look at him. His eyes were turned seaward. The same dawn-light was in them, as shone in her own.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” said Jim Airth, and pulled out his watch.

“I do,” said Myra, gaily. “And now I can venture to tell you what delicious home-made bread I had for tea. What time is it, Jim?”

“Half past three. In a few minutes the sun will rise. Watch! Did you ever before see the dawn? Is it not wonderful? Always more of pearl and silver than at sunset. Look how the narrow rift has widened and spread right across the sky. The Monarch of Day is coming! See the little herald clouds, in livery of pink and gold. Now watch where the sea looks brightest. Ah!... There is the tip of his blood-red rim, rising out of the ocean. And how quickly the whole ball appears. Now see the rippling path of gold and crimson, a royal highway on the waters, right from the shore below us, to the footstool of his brilliant Majesty.... A new day has begun; and we have not said ‘Good-morning.’ Why should we? We did not say ‘Good-night.’ How ideal it would be, never to say ‘Good-morning’; and never to say ‘Good-night.’ The night would be always ‘good’, and so would the morning. All life would be one grand crescendo of good—better—best. What? Have we found the Best? Ah, hush! I did not mean to say that yet.... Are you ready for the climb down? No, I can’t allow any peeping over, and considering. If you really feel afraid of it, I will run to Tregarth as quickly as possible, rouse the sleeping village, bring ropes and men, and haul you up from the top.”

“I absolutely decline to be ‘hauled up from the top,’ or to be left here alone,” declared Lady Ingleby.

“Then the sooner we start down, the better,” said Jim Airth. “I’m going first.” He was over the edge before Myra could open her lips to expostulate. “Now turn round. Hold on to the ledge firmly with your hands, and give me your feet. Do you hear? Do as I tell you. Don’t hesitate. It is less steep than it seemed yesterday. We are quite safe. Come on!... That’s right.”

Then Lady Ingleby passed through a most terrifying five minutes, while she yielded in blind obedience to the strong hands beneath her, and the big voice which encouraged and threatened alternately.

But when the descent was over and she stood on the shore beside Jim Airth; when together they turned and looked in silence up the path of glory on the rippling waters, to the blazing beauty of the rising sun, thankful tears rushed to Lady Ingleby’s eyes.

“Oh, Jim,” she exclaimed, “God is good! It is so wonderful to be alive!”

Then Jim Airth turned, his face transfigured, the sunlight in his eyes, and opened his arms. “Myra,” he said. “We have found the Best.”

They walked along the shore, and up the steep street of the sleeping village, hand in hand like happy children.

Arrived at the Moorhead Inn, they pushed open the garden gate, and stepped noiselessly across the sunlit lawn.

The front door was firmly bolted. Jim Airth slipped round to the back, but returned in a minute shaking his head. Then he felt in his pocket for the big knife which had served them so well; pushed back the catch of the coffee-room window; softly raised the sash; swung one leg over, and drew Myra in after him.

Once in the familiar room, with its mustard-pots and salt-cellars, its table-cloths, left on in readiness for breakfast, they both lapsed into fits of uncontrollable laughter; laughter the more overwhelming, because it had to be silent.

Jim, recovering first, went off to the larder to forage for food.

Lady Ingleby flew noiselessly up to her room to wash her hands, and smooth her hair. She returned in two minutes to find Jim, very proud of his success, setting out a crusty home-made loaf, a large cheese, and a foaming tankard of ale.

Lady Ingleby longed for tea, and had never in her life drunk ale out of a pewter pot. But not for worlds would she have spoiled Jim Airth’s boyish delight in the success of his raid on the larder.

So they sat at the centre table, Myra in Miss Murgatroyd’s place, and Jim in Susie’s, and consumed their bread-and-cheese, and drank their beer, with huge appetites and prodigious enjoyment. And Jim used Miss Susannah’s napkin, and pretended to be sentimental over it. And Myra reproved him, after the manner of Miss Murgatroyd reproving Susie. After which they simultaneously exclaimed: “Oh, my dear love!” in Miss Eliza’s most affecting manner; then linked fingers for a wish, and could neither of them think of one.

By the time they had finished, and cleared away, it was half past five. They passed into the hall together.

“You must get some more sleep,” said Jim Airth, authoritatively.

“I will, if you wish it,” whispered Myra; “but I never, in my whole life, felt so strong or so rested. Jim, I shall sit at your table, and pour out your coffee at breakfast. Let’s aim to have it at nine, as usual. It will be such fun to watch the Murgatroyds, and to remember our cheese and beer. If you are down first, order our breakfasts at the same table.”

“All right,” said Jim Airth.

Myra commenced mounting the stairs, but turned on the fifth step and hung over the banisters to smile at him.

Jim Airth reached up his hand. “How can I let you go?” he exclaimed suddenly.

Myra leaned over, and smiled into his adoring eyes.

“How can I go?” she whispered, tenderly.

Jim Airth took both her hands in his. His eyes blazed up into hers.

“Myra,” he said, “when shall we be married?”

Myra’s face flamed, just as the soft white clouds had flamed when the sun arose. But she met the fire of his eyes without flinching.

“When you will, Jim,” she answered gently.

“As soon as possible, then,” said Jim Airth, eagerly.

Myra withdrew her hands, and mounted two more steps; then turned to bend and whisper: “Why?”

“Because,” replied Jim Airth, “I do not know how to bear that there should be a day, or an hour, or a minute, when we cannot be together.”

“Ah, do you feel that, too?” whispered Myra.

“Too?” cried Jim Airth. “Do you—Myra! Come back!”

But Lady Ingleby fled up the stairs like a hare. She had not run so fast since she was a little child of ten. He heard her happy laugh, and the closing of her door.

Then he unbarred the front entrance; and stepping out, stood in the sunshine, on the path where he had seen his Fairy-land Princess arrive.

He stretched his arms over his head.

“Mine!” he said. “Mine, altogether! Oh, my God! At last, I have won the Highest!”

Then he raced down the street to the beach; and five minutes later, in the full strength of his vigorous manhood, he was swimming up the golden path, towards the rising sun.