Chapter XXVI.


Decision.


Punctual to his fishing appointment with Kitty, Mr. Sarrazin was
out in the early morning, waiting on the pier.

Not a breath of wind was stirring; the lazy mist lay asleep on
the further shore of the lake. Here and there only the dim tops
of the hills rose like shadows cast by the earth on the faint
gray of the sky. Nearer at hand, the waters of the lake showed a
gloomy surface; no birds flew over the colorless calm; no passing
insects tempted the fish to rise. From time to time a last-left
leaf on the wooded shore dropped noiselessly and died. No
vehicles passed as yet on the lonely road; no voices were audible
from the village; slow and straight wreaths of smoke stole their
way out of the chimneys, and lost their vapor in the misty sky.
The one sound that disturbed the sullen repose of the morning was
the tramp of the lawyer's footsteps, as he paced up and down the
pier. He thought of London and its ceaseless traffic, its roaring
high tide of life in action--and he said to himself, with the
strong conviction of a town-bred man: How miserable this is!

A voice from the garden cheered him, just as he reached the end
of the pier for the fiftieth time, and looked with fifty-fold
intensity of dislike at the dreary lake.