We were fast nearing the end of our long journey. The sun blazed on
us from the zenith, and the wheels creaked with the heat of the white
road. The driver leaned back, saying, "We enter Finistère here by this
granite post." Presently he added, "The ocean!"
There it lay, a basin of silver and blue. Sweetheart had started to her
feet, speechless, one hand holding to my shoulder, the other clasped
to her breast. And now, as the road wound through the hills and down
to the coast, long stretches of white sand skirted the distant cliffs,
and over the cliffs waved miles and miles of yellow gorse. A cluster of
white and gray houses lay in the hollow to the left almost at the mouth
of the river, and beyond, the waves were beating in the bar--beating
the same rhythm which we were to hear so long there together, day and
night. There was not a boat to be seen, not a creature, nor was there
any sign of life save for the smoke curling from a cottage chimney
below. The ocean lay sparkling beneath, and beyond its deeper blue
melted into the haze on the horizon.
Suddenly, in the road below, the figure of a man appeared, and at the
same moment a pointer pup came gambolling up beside us in an ecstasy
of self-abnegation and apology. I sprang out of the lumbering vehicle
and lifted Sweetheart to the ground, and in an instant we were shaking
hands with a stalwart young fellow in knickerbockers and jersey, who
said we were a pretty pair not to have come sooner, and told Sweetheart
he pitied her lot--meaning me.
Then we walked arm in arm down a fragrant lane to the river bank, where
the dearest old lady toddled out of the granite house to welcome us and
show us our rooms. Sweetheart went with her, while I stopped an instant
to chat with Stuart.
"That is Madame Ylven," he said. "She is the most stunning peasant
woman in Finistère, and you will want for nothing." Then, after a
moment, "Good heavens! Jack, what a beauty your wife----" He stopped
short, but added, "What a delicious little beauty Sweetheart has grown
to be!"
A white-coiffed maid came to the door, and said, "Will monsieur have
the goodness to come? Madame wishes him to see the rooms."
The wind blew from the south, and the thunder of the sea was in my ears
as I mounted the stairs to our new quarters.
Sweetheart met me at the door, saying, "It seems almost too much
happiness to bear, but I feel that we are at home at last--alone
together for all time."
Alone together? The ocean at our threshold, the moors and forests at
our back, and a good slate roof above us. Before me through the open
door I could see the great old-fashioned room, warm in the afternoon
sunlight--the room we were to live in so long, the room in which we
were to pass the happiest and bitterest moments of our lives.
She hesitated an instant before the threshold. I think we knew that we
stood upon the threshold of our destiny. Then I said, half in earnest:
"Are you afraid to cross with me into the unknown future? See, the room
is filled with sunshine. Are you afraid?"
She sprang across the threshold, and, turning to me, held out both
hands.