The letter from St. Gildas had been lying on our table for a week
before I thought of answering it, and even then it was Sweetheart who
wrote:
"DEAR MR. STUART:
"Jack is too lazy to answer your kind note, so, in pure shame
for his discourtesy, I hasten to reply to your questions.
"First: Yes; we have been working very hard, and Jack's
pictures are charming, though he growls over them all day.
"Second: Yes; we intend to stay in Brittany this winter for
lots of reasons--one being economy, and another, Jack's
outdoor painting.
"Third: Yes; we are coming to St. Gildas.
"Fourth: To-morrow.
"Fifth: No; we had not heard of Mr. Clifford's affair with
the policeman; and oh, I am so sorry he was locked up and
fined! Jack laughs. I suspect he, too, was as wicked as you
all when he was a student, alone in Paris.
"Sixth: I know you are Jack's oldest and most intimate friend,
so I allow you more liberty than I do Messieurs Clifford and
Elliott; therefore I will answer your question as to whether
the honeymoon is not on the wane. No! no! no! There are three
answers to one question. See how generous I can be!"
Sweetheart called me to see whether or not I approved. I did, and added
my answer to Stuart's last question as follows: "No, you idiot!" Then
I signed the note, and Sweetheart sealed and directed it.
So we left for St. Gildas next morning before sunrise and in the rain.
This leaving at such an unearthly hour was not my doing, but Sweetheart
was determined, and rose by candlelight in spite of desperate
opposition on my part. It was cold, and the rain beat against the
windows.
It was many kilometres to St. Gildas, but before we had gone six, the
rain had ceased and the eastern sky flushed to a pale rose.
"Thank goodness!" I said, "we shall have the sun."
Then the daily repeated miracle of the coming of dawn was wrought
before our eyes. The heavens glowed in rainbow tints; the shredded mist
rising along the river was touched with purple and gold, and acres
of meadow and pasture dripped precious stones. Shreds of the fading
night-mist drifted among the tree tops, now tipped with fire, while in
the forest depths faint sparkles came from some lost ray of morning
light falling on wet leaves. Then of a sudden up shot the sun, and
against it, black and gigantic, a peasant towered, leaning upon his
spade.