Well, here’s the sun himself, and no one in Rosemont to pay any attention to him but the milkman and me. “The sun in splendour”—what comes after that, do you remember? Not that it makes any difference; the only thing that makes any difference is that what will come after that in just a few minutes will be a clock striking five—and then six and then seven and it will be another day—another miraculous, incredible day getting under way in a world that holds Mimi in it. Lucky day, lucky world, lucky, lucky me, Mimi, who will be your worshipper while this world lasts.
Good morning, Beautiful.
The eyes of the Court swung avidly back to the slim figure in the space before them, but for once that bright head was bowed. Sue Ives was no longer looking at Mimi’s worshipper.
“And the next?” murmured Farr.
Rosemont, .
My little heart:
I went to bed the minute I got home, just as I promised, but it didn’t do much good. I did go to sleep for a bit, but it was only to dream that you were leaning over me again with your hair swinging down like two lovely clouds of fire and saying over and over in that small, blessed voice—that voice that I’d strain to hear from under three feet of sod—“It’s not a dream, love, it’s not a dream—it’s Mimi, who’s yours and who’s sweeter than all the dreams you’ll dream between here and heaven. Wake up. Wake up! She’s waiting for you. How can you sleep?” And I couldn’t sleep; no, it’s no use. Mimi, how can I ever sleep again, now that I have you?
It wasn’t just a dream that between those shining clouds that are your hair your eyes were bright with laughter and with tears, was it, Mimi? No, that was not a dream. To think that anyone in the world can cry and still be beautiful! It must be an awful temptation to do it all the time—only I know that you won’t. Darling, don’t cry. Even when you look beautiful and on the edge of laughter, it makes me want to kill myself. It’s because you’re afraid, isn’t it—afraid that we won’t be able to make a go of it? Don’t be afraid. If you will come to me—really, forever, not in little snatched bits of heaven like this, but to belong to me all the days of my life—if you will believe in me and trust me, I swear that I’ll make you happy. I swear it.
I know that at first it may be hideously hard. I know that giving up everything here and starting life all over somewhere with strangers will be hard to desperation. But it will be easier than trying to fight it out here, won’t it, Mimi? And in the end we’ll hold happiness in our hands—you’ll see, my blessed. Don’t cry, don’t cry, my little girl—not even in dreams, not even through laughter. Because, you see, like the Prince and Princess in the fairy tale, we’re going to live happy ever after.
“That concludes the letters?” inquired Judge Carver, hopefully, his eyes on the bowed head beneath his throne.
“That concludes them,” said Mr. Farr, removing them deftly from the assistant prosecutor’s palsied fingers. “And as it is close to four, I would like to make a suggestion. The state is ready to rest its case with these letters, but an extremely unfortunate occurrence has deprived us so far of one of our witnesses, who is essential as a link in the chain of evidence that we have forged. This witness was stricken three weeks ago with appendicitis and rushed to a New York hospital. I was given every assurance that he would be able to be present by this date, but late last week unfavourable symptoms developed and he has been closely confined ever since.
“I have here the surgeon’s certificate that he is absolutely unable to take the stand today, but that it is entirely possible that he may do so by Monday. As this is Friday, therefore, I respectfully suggest that we adjourn to Monday, when the state will rest its case.”
“Have you any objections, Mr. Lambert?”
“Every objection, Your Honour!” replied Mr. Lambert with passionate conviction. “I have two witnesses myself who have come here at great inconvenience to themselves and are obliged to return at the earliest possible moment. What about them? What about the unfortunate jury? What about the unfortunate defendants? I have most emphatic objections to delaying this trial one second longer.”
“Then I can only suggest that the trial proceed and that the state be permitted to produce its witness as soon as is humanly possible, in which case the defense would necessarily be permitted to produce what witnesses it saw fit in rebuttal.”
Mr. Lambert, still flown with some secret triumph, made an ample gesture of condescension.
“Very well, I consider it highly irregular, but leave it that way—leave it that way by all means. Now, Your Honour—”
“You say you have a certificate, Mr. Farr?”
“Yes, Your Honour.”
“May we have its contents?”
“Certainly.” Mr. Farr tendered it promptly. “It’s from the chief surgeon at St. Luke’s. As you see, it simply says that it would be against his express orders that Dr. Barretti should take the stand today, but that, if nothing unfavourable develops, he should be able to do so by Monday.”
“Yes. Well, Mr. Farr, if Mr. Lambert has
