"Thy old coat, John, the dear old coat I stole away from thee." So he brought the Ramillie coat and girded it about her loveliness and she rubbed soft cheek against threadbare cuff. "Dear shabby old thing!" she sighed, "it brought to me thy letters—so shall I love it alway, John."
"But thy shoes!" said he. "Thy little shoes! And the dew so heavy!" My lady laughed and reached up to kiss his anxious brow.
"Nay," she murmured as he opened the door——
"'Tis dabbling in the dew that makes the milkmaids fair."
Hand in hand, and creeping stealthily as truant children, they came out upon the terrace.
"John," she whispered, "'tis a something grey dawn and yet methinks this bringeth us even more joy than the last."
"And Betty," said he a little unsteadily, "there will be—other dawns—an God be kind—soon, beloved—soon!"
"Yes, John," she answered, face hidden against his velvet coat, "God will be kind."
"And the dew, my Betty——"
"What of it, John?" she questioned, not moving.