"We were both tired, I think. I was as much in fault as you. Is not this an exquisite flower?" That was the end of the trouble. He drew her to his side, and kissed the hand that touched the flower; and so all explanations were over; and they took up their love-story where the shadow of yesterday had broken it off. And as their hands wandered among the shrubs, it was natural for Piers to notice the ring on Kate's finger. "It is a very singular jewel," he said; "I never saw one like it." "It is my mother's," answered Kate. "She told me this morning it was her betrothal ring and that father bought it in Venice." "Kate dear, I wish to get you a ring just like it. Let us ask Mrs. Atheling if I may show it to my jeweller, and have one made for you." "I am sure mother will be willing," and she slipped the shining circle from her finger, and gave it to Piers; and he whispered fondly, as he placed it on his own hand, "Will you take it from me, Kate, as a love gage?--never to leave your finger until I put the wife's gold ring above it?" And what she said need not be told. Many happy words grew from her answer; and they forgot the rosebuds they had come to gather, and the company they had left, and the flight of time, until Edgar came into the conservatory to bid his sister "good-bye." There had been a slight formality between Piers and Edgar at their first meeting; but with Kate standing between them, all the good days on the Yorkshire hills and moors came into their memories, and they clasped hands with their old boyish fervour, and it was "Piers" and "Edgar" again. So the parting was the real meeting; and they went back to the parlour in an unmistakable enthusiasm of good fellowship.