The thorn--it is my love for you"; he dropped his voice to a whisper "You planted it carelessly, far below you in the dark.

In the dark it has grown and sung to you, and grown again, until now it stands in your own castle window.

Will you not touch it and make its flowers bloom for you ?" He spoke fervently.

She had turned her face quite from him now, and was resting her forehead against one hand that leaned upon the heavy frame of the casement.

The other hand hung down by her side toward him, fair as a lily against her dark gown.