Thou bear’st Jesus, Heaven’s King,
Gratia divina:
Of all thou bear’st the prize,
Lady, queen of paradise
Electa:
Maid mild, Mother es
Effecta.
“There,” she cried triumphant, as she ended, most innocently pleased with the performance, “I said it would sound well.”
“Liquid silver notes from a throat of gold,” said Peregrine, verily astonished. “An’ I had not other matters on hand, you and I might well roam the world together, and men would truly hearken to us, or they are greater dullards than even I judge them.”
She looked at him with longing eyes. His words held open a vista of bliss before her. But she shook her head sadly.