"Look at this, Urith."
Anthony drew from his breast the half-token that had belonged to his mother, and placed it against that which Urith held.
"See, Urith! they fit together."
It was so, the ragged edge of one closed into the ragged edge of the other.
She looked at it, seemed surprised, parted the portions, and reclosed them again.
"Everything broken may be mended, Urith," said Anthony. "Faith—trust—love. Do you see? Faith shaken and rent may become firm and sound again, and trust may be restored as it was, and love be closed fast. Unions—a little parted by misunderstanding, by errors, may be healed. Do you see—Urith?"
She looked questioningly into his eyes, then back at the token, then into his eyes again.
"Is it so?" she asked, as in a dream.
"It is so, you see it is so. See—this broken half-token belonged to your father; that to my mother. Each had failed the other. All seemed lost and ruined forever and ever. But it could not be—the broken pledge must be made whole, the promises redeemed, the parts must be reunited—and Urith! they are so in us."
He caught her by both hands, and looking into her face, began to sing, in low, soft times:—