"They too have only each other," he
thought, as he bent his eyes lovingly on Ramona's face.
It was dawn, and past dawn, on the plains, before it was yet
morning twilight in the canon; but the birds in the upper boughs' of
the sycamores caught the tokens of the coming day, and began to
twitter in the dusk. Their notes fell on Ramona's sleeping ear, like
the familiar sound of the linnets in the veranda-thatch at home, and
waked her instantly. Sitting up bewildered, and looking about her,
she exclaimed, "Oh, is it morning already, and so dark? The birds
can see more sky than we! Sing, Alessandro," and she began the
hymn: --
"'Singers at dawn
From the heavens above
People all regions;
Gladly we too sing,'"
Never went up truer invocation, from sweeter spot.
"Sing not so loud, my Majel," whispered Alessandro, as her voice
went carolling like a lark's in the pure ether. "There might be
hunters near who would hear;" and he joined in with low and
muffled tones.
As she dropped her voice at this caution, it seemed even sweeter
than before: --
"'Come, O sinners,
Come, and we will sing
Tender hymns
To our refuge,'"
"Ah, Majella, there is no sinner here, except me!" said Alessandro.
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