seat upon an old frail sofa, and drew down Mr. Peregrine, who, in fact, scarcely knew any longer whether he actually was this same person. She then gently lisped into his ear, "My dear, dear Peregrine, how happy, how delighted I feel by your side!"—"But, lady," stammered Peregrine, "honoured lady———" On a sudden, Heaven knows how, the lips of the stranger came so close to his, that, before he could think about kissing them, he had really done it. That by this he lost all power of speech is easily to be imagined.
"My sweet friend," continued the lady, creeping up to Peregrine so closely, that she almost sate in his lap—" My sweet friend, I know what troubles you; I know what has so much afflicted your simple heart this evening. But, take comfort. That which you lost, that which you hardly hoped to find again,—see, I bring it to you."
With this she took out a little wooden box from her basket, and gave it into the hands of Peregrine. In it was the hunting-set that he had missed on the Christmas-eve table. It
