"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. XIV. 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. XV. The sun slipped lower and lower into the sea, until a distant tossing
wave washed it out against the sky. Light died in the room, and shadows
closed around us; yet it was in the darkness and shadows that we drew
nearer to each other, then and after. XVI. Stuart stood under our window and yelled up at me, "Oh, Jack! I say,
Jack!" Sweetheart, who was fussing over the half-unpacked trunk, went to the
window and threw open the panes. "You don't mean to say you have had your coffee?" she said. "Jack isn't
up yet." "Jack is up," I explained, coming to the window in pajamas. "Hello!" "I only wanted to say that I haven't had my coffee," he explained, "and
I'm going to take it with you when you're ready." Sweetheart picked up her béret, and, passing a hatpin through it,
turned to me with a warning, "I shall eat all the breakfast, monsieur!" and vanished down the stairs. A moment later I heard her clear voice
below:

  Sonnez le choeur,
    Chasseur! Sonnez la mort! Before I had finished dressing, Sweetheart tripped in with my coffee
and toast. "Of course I've finished," she said, "and you don't deserve this. Mr. Stuart has gone off with his canvases, and says he'll see you at
lunch." I swallowed the coffee and browsed on little squares of toast which
she condescendingly buttered for me, and then, lighting a cigarette, I
announced my intention of commanding an exploring expedition consisting
of Sweetheart and myself. A scratching at the door and a patter of feet
announced that I had been overheard. Sweetheart unlatched the door, and the pointer pup of the evening
before charged into the room and covered us with boisterous caresses,
which we took to indicate that he not only approved of the expedition,
but intended to undertake the general supervision of it himself. I
resigned the leadership at once. "His name," said Sweetheart in the tone of one who presents a
distinguished guest, "is 'Luff.'" I gravely acknowledged the honour by patting his head.