"Here!" said I, reaching the case from my pocket. "When your singing woke me to this wonderful, glorious morning, I brought it to find you."
"How pretty it is!" she sighed happily, touching it tenderly with the extreme tip of one slender finger.
"It isn't anything near good enough," said I, viewing it a little gloomily, "I will get you one infinitely better—"
"No!" said she. "This is what I shall always love best," and stooping, she touched the trinket with the heaven of her mouth. Then, being upon our knees, she stooped her head that I might set it about her throat, but what with her nearness and the touch of her velvety neck, I bungled the business sadly, so that she lifted her two hands to aid me and her lips being so near, how could I help but kiss her.
"Now this, Peregrine!" she commanded, drawing my mouth to the locket where it hung. And so I kissed the locket and chain and throat and neck until she laughed, a little tremulously, and slipping from my hold, sprang to her feet and fled away.
And now, being upon my knees, I bowed my head and passionately besought a blessing on this sweet-souled Diana, this woman of mine, and upon our love and the years that were to be. My supplication ended, I remembered that this was the first prayer I had uttered since faring out into the world. And as I arose, came Jessamy, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Lord bless us, Perry, what a morning—the j'y of it, brother! List to the birds and hark—ah, do but hark how Ann do be singing; never 'eard her voice sound so wonderful afore, Perry."
"Nor I, Jessamy," said I, as the golden notes died away; "but then there never was quite such another morning as this."