Had her son spoken of the cause of my emotion?
A few moments after, Edith entered, and her mother rejoined her friends below.
Edith held in her hand a fresh bouquet of the most exquisite green-house plants, among which the scarlet geranium exhibited its glowing blossoms.
She held it towards me, turned it like a prism in various directions to catch the changing rays, while its odoriferous breath perfumed the whole apartment.
"I am glad you have another, Edith," I said, looking at the wilted flowers on my pillow.

"These have fulfilled their mission most sweetly.
I have no doubt they inspired soothing dreams, though I cannot remember them distinctly." "Oh! these are _yours_," she answered, "sent by a friend who was quite distressed at your absence from the dinner-table.

Cannot you guess the donor ?" "It will not require much acuteness," replied I, taking the flowers, and though I could not help admiring their beauty, and feeling grateful for the attention, a shade of regret clouded their welcome; "I have so few friends it is easy to conjecture who thus administers to my gratification." "Well, who is it?
You do not hazard the utterance of the name." "No one but Richard Clyde would think of giving me a token like this.
They are very, _very_ sweet, and yet I wish he had not sent them." "Ungrateful Gabriella! No one but Richard! A host of common beings melted into one, could not make the equal of the friend who made me the bearer of this charming offering.

Is the gift of Ernest greeted with such indifference ?" "Ernest!" I repeated, and the blood bounded in my veins like a stream leaping over a mountain rock.

"Is he indeed so kind ?" I bent my head over the beautiful messengers, to hide the joy too deep for words, the gratitude too intense for the gift.