Moxon took my reproach most excellently, and replied he had begun in that fashion, but that Dandy had shown signs of disliking the plate. It appears he picked up the biscuits himself and threw them across the hall.
"As if to make out, sir," said Moxon, "that they was alive. So I thought it would add to the illusion if I did it for him. I fancy myself, sir, that they must taste nicer to him that way."
Of course, Moxon is a sentimentalist, which I am not; neither, for the matter of that, is Dandy. But Moxon—well, I rather fancy myself that Moxon would go down in weight a bit were he in love. He is built that way. Now, I am neither built that way, nor am I at the present moment martyr to any passion at all, wherefore I would eat a breakfast with any one and be glad of it.
I do not think I have ever felt so keen an appetite in all my life as during these three days while I am waiting for Friday to arrive. One thing only concerns me. Our meeting is to be at twelve o'clock—midday. In all my thoughts of her coming, I have imagined it would be at night, when she might have found excuse to escape from the Miss Fennells and contrive to see me alone. But, no, it is to be in broad daylight. Even that heavy veil—which, indeed, it is quite likely she will not wear, since I have said I know her eyes are well—but even that at such an hour will not dim the quickness of her perception. She will see me as Bellwattle sees me, as every woman has seen me since the first moment when an absurd and morbid sensitiveness induced me to notice such things. And then—will she listen to me? I leave it on the knees of the implacable gods.
Something tells me that I have not set out upon the wild errand of my journey for nothing. For so far do I believe in Destiny, that what we do, having within us some definite purpose to accomplish, is ordained to a certain end. Some end, it may be, so foreign to our thoughts, as is impossible of conception; but a definite purpose will always be a weapon in the hand of Fate to achieve a definite victory. I only pray that mine may be what I have hoped of it. I only pray that the result of my adventure may be the return of that little spirit in prison to her home in the burning heart of the sun.
I was up early this morning, for it is Friday, the day I have been waiting for. The sun beat down upon my face and woke me before it was six o'clock. It was then as I lay there, with my eyes half closed, that the sound of a far voice shouting on the cliffs came dimly to my ears. It was arresting, insistent, but not enough to stir me. I neither moved my head nor opened my eyes; but I listened, sleepily wondering what it was.
Presently a voice from below in the garden rose compellingly to my open window.
"Bellairs! Come down! There are sprats in the bay—they've got the nets out."
I jumped up from my bed and looked down. There was Cruikshank, dressed in such garments as served to make him decent and no more.
"Shove some things on," said he, "and come along with me as quick as you can. I'll show you the sight of your life."