“See,” said the little Preacher, smiling upon us, “it is day and a very glorious one; already a thousand little choristers of God’s great cathedral have begun to chant your marriage hymn.  Go forth together, Man and Wife, upon this great wide road that we call Life; go forth together, made strong in Faith, and brave with Hope, and the memory of Him who walked these ways before you; who joyed and sorrowed and suffered and endured all things —­even as we must.  Go forth together, and may His blessing abide with you, and the ‘peace that passeth understanding.’”

And so we turned together, side by side, and left him standing amid his roses.

Silently we went together, homewards, through the dewy morning, with a soft, green carpet underfoot, and leafy arches overhead, where trees bent to whisper benedictions, and shook down jewels from their dewy leaves upon us as we passed; by merry brooks that laughed and chattered, and gurgled of love and happiness, while over all rose the swelling chorus of the birds.  Surely never had they piped so gladly in this glad world before—­not even for the gentle Spenser, though he says: 

      “There was none of them that feigned
       To sing, for each of them him pained;
       To find out merry, crafty notes
       They ne spared not their throats.”

And being come, at length, to the Hollow, Charmian must needs pause beside the pool among the willows, to view herself in the pellucid water.  And in this mirror our eyes met, and lo! of a sudden, her lashes drooped, and she turned her head aside.

“Don’t, Peter!” she whispered; “don’t look at me so.”

“How may I help it when you are so beautiful?”

And, because of my eyes, she would have fled from me, but I caught her in my arms, and there, amid the leaves, despite the jealous babble of the brook, for the second time in my life, her lips met mine.  And, gazing yet into her eyes, I told her how, in this shady bower, I had once watched her weaving leaves into her hair, and heard her talk to her reflection—­and so—­had stolen away, for fear of her beauty.

“Fear, Peter?”

“We were so far out of the world, and—­I longed to kiss you.”

“And didn’t, Peter.”

“And didn’t, Charmian, because we were so very far from the world, and because you were so very much alone, and—­”

“And because, Peter, because you are a gentle man and strong, as the old locket says.  And do you remember,” she went on hurriedly, laying her cool, restraining fingers on my eager lips, “how I found you wearing that locket, and how you blundered and stammered over it, and pretended to read your Homer?”

“And how you sang, to prevent me?”

“And how gravely you reproved me?”

“And how you called me a ’creature’?”

“And how you deserved it, sir—­and grew more helpless and ill at ease than ever, and how—­just to flatter my vanity—­you told me I had ’glorious hair’?”