I
have studied and travelled, lived alone and in society, until your
world seemed to be almost mine: but you were not there!"
The sun had risen, while they sat, rocking on their frail support.
Her hand still lay in his, and her head rested on his shoulder.
Every word he spoke sank into her heart with a solemn sweetness, in
which her whole nature was silent and satisfied. Why should she
speak? He knew all.
Yes, it seemed that he knew. His arm stole around her, and her
head was drawn from his shoulder to the warm breadth of his breast.
Something hard pressed her cheek, and she lifted her hand to move
it aside. He drew forth a flat medallion case; and to the
unconscious question in her face, such a sad, tender smile came to
his lips, that she could not repress a sudden pain. Was it the
miniature of his dead wife?
He opened the case, and showed her, under the glass, a faded,
pressed flower.
"What is it?" she asked.
"The Brandywine cowslip you dropped, when you spoke to me in the
lane. Then it was that you showed me the first step of the way.
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