The last beams of the setting sun, entering through the western window, illumined, with a ray of golden glory, the lovely face above him. But he saw on it a radiance more bright than the reflected glory of any earthly sunset.
“Myra?” he said, awe and wonder in his voice. “Myra? What is it?”
And clasping her hands about his neck as he knelt before her, she drew his head to her breast, and answered:
“I have learnt a lesson, my belovèd; a lesson only you could teach. And I am very happy and thankful, Jim; because I know, that at last, I—even I—am ready for wifehood.”
CHAPTER XXVI
“WHAT SHALL WE WRITE?”
The hall at the Moorhead Inn seemed very homelike to Jim Airth and Myra, as they stood together looking around it, on their arrival.
Jim had set his heart upon bringing his wife there, on the evening of their wedding day. Therefore they had left town immediately after the ceremony; dined en route, and now stood, as they had so often stood before when bidding one another good-night, in the lamp-light, beside the marble table.