I went inside the brass railing and waited my turn to buy the tickets.
When it came, I took two first class to Quimperlé, for it was to be
an all-night ride, and there was no sleeping car. Clifford had taken
charge of the baggage, and I went with him to have it registered,
leaving Sweetheart with Elliott and Rowden. All the traps were
there--the big trunks, the big valises, my sketching kit, the zitherine
in a leather case, two handbags, a bundle of umbrellas and canes, and a
huge package of canvases. The toilet case and the rugs and waterproofs
we took with us into the compartment.
The compartment was empty. Sweetheart nestled into one corner, and
when I had placed our traps in the racks overhead I sat down opposite,
while Clifford handed in our sandwiches, a bottle of red wine, and
Sweetheart's box of bonbons.
We didn't say much; most had been said before starting. Clifford was
more affected than he cared to show--I know by the way he grasped my
hand. They are dear fellows, every one. We did not realize that we were
actually going--going, perhaps, forever. She laughed, and chatted, and
made fun of Clifford, and teased Rowden, aided and abetted by Elliott,
until the starting gong clanged and a warning whistle sounded along the
gaslit platform.
"Jack," cried Clifford, leaning in the window, "God bless you! God
bless you both!"
Elliott touched her hand and wrung mine, and Rowden risked his neck to
give us both one last cordial grasp.
"Count on me--on us," cried Clifford, speaking in English, "if you
are--troubled!"
By what, my poor Clifford? Can you, with all your gay courage, turn
back the hands of the dials? Can you, with all your warm devotion, add
one second to the magic second and make it two? The shadows we cast are
white.
The train stole out into the night, and I saw them grouped on the
platform, silhouettes in the glare of the yellow signals. I drew in my
head and shut the window. Sweetheart's face had grown very serious, but
now she smiled across from her corner.
"Aren't you coming over by me, Jack?"