Now, as the little Preacher closed his book, the sun rose up,
filling the world about us with his glory.
And looking into the eyes of my wife, it seemed that a veil was
lifted, for a moment, there, and I read that which her lips might
never tell; and there, also, were joy and shame and a deep
happiness.
"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.