"See," said he, taking a tiny velvet case from his pocket and touching the
spring that opened it. "I have amused myself finding a mate to your stone.
I thought perhaps you would let me wear your ring always, while you wear
mine."

He lifted the jewel from its white velvet bed and showed her the
inscription inside: "Mary, from Tryon." Then he slipped it on her finger
to guard the wedding ring he had given her at the church. His arm that
encircled her clasped her left wrist, and the two diamonds flashed side by
side. The last gleam of the setting sun, ere it vanished behind the tall
buildings on the west, glanced in and blazed the gems into tangled beams
of glory, darting out in many colored prisms to light the vision of the
future of the man and the woman. He bent and kissed her again, and their
eyes met like other jewels, in which gleamed the glory of their love and
trust.

THE END.