had followed it were a part of the mystery of the moment, and when he climbed back into the punt and stood and towelled himself he was yet more conscious of the morning's mystery. What a night and what a dawn! The confused emotions of yesterday had come forth clearly into this world of green and of gold, with the deep eyes of the river shining, and the willows a shimmering grey green mist, and the beechwoods splendid against the rain-washed blue of the sky. He understood to the full the exultation of a man's tenderness.
He dressed, thinking of many things, swift, incongruous, chasing thoughts. He had a twenty-four hour's beard upon his chin and no razor,—but if he caught an early train that detail could be remedied. Yes, it was his duty to catch an early train. He was responsible now, sacredly responsible. Amazing! The suddenness, the exquisite poignancy of it! He bent his head between his knees and remained thus for a moment like a man faint. He remembered his father. Dear old pater! He would write and tell him at once that he and Molly Pentreath were to be married.
And suddenly he heard her voice, and raised his head and sat still. She was singing—or rather murmuring some song. He heard a clatter of china, and the song changed to a soft whistling. Absurd, dear, intimate clatter of plates and tea-cups! They were to breakfast together.
"Kit."
"Hallo!"
"Did you say two eggs?"
"How many are there left?"
"Three."
"Boil one hard and we'll halve it. Or I can do with one."
He heard her soft laughter.
"If an egg and a half? I have a pot of marmalade. What are you doing?"
"Dressing.—I say,—Molly,—dear,—you will have to overlook a beard."
"I will. You may be able to persuade a barber man in Marley to break the Sabbath. Anyway—why worry?"
"I'm not worrying.—I feel that that old yellow sun had just been hoisted for the first time into the sky"
"The Creation of the World."
"That's it."
