Morning,
At Three Meadows.
Sally, My Dear,
Once again I crept up a river of mother-of-pearl in the gauzy dawn to this island sanctuary. The Deacon met us, amazed at our number, and led us to the silver gray house just beyond theirs on a little, lifting hill, where "Angerleek" will "do for us."
Morning brought counsel. While my husband (carelessly said—just like that!) while my husband looked after luggage I talked to Randal, sane again, haggard, abased. "My dear boy," I said, "you aren't going to be in the way at all! You'll look after yourself and be company for Michael when he wants good man-talk. It's this demon-child. If—do you suppose you could look after her for me!"
He wrung my hand. "Count on me! If there's anything I can do, to atone, to square myself—I'll be her nurse, her governess, her jailer!"
Then to a meek huérfanita, feeding her menagerie, I made oration. "Daughter of my soul, thou knowest thy presence is a joy of purest ray serene, but this Randal creature, tagging ever at the heels of my spouse——"
"Star of my heart," she said, grinding her teeth, "he is a pig and the son of a pig! Have no fear, Madrecita, I will herd him, like cattle, away from thy sight." She kissed up to God.
Jane.
The Silver Gray House,
On the Lifting Hill,
Three Meadows.
I have ceased to reckon time by calendars, Sally dearest, but I think we have been here, Michael Daragh and I, seven or ten days.