‘Yes,’ replied I, placing one of those roses which I had plucked in his hand, ‘there,—is there a painting in any mansion in the country half so beautiful? What a name a painter would get who could only give a perfect copy of these roses, and, you see, I give you the originals for nothing.’
‘Dear girl, dear girl!’ ejaculated my father, his eyes glittering with fondness.
‘And yet I do not give them to you for nothing, my dear father,’ I added; ‘for you give me in exchange those sweet smiles of affection, which are to me of more value than anything else in the world.’
‘Darling child,’ cried my father, raising his hand above his head, and invoking a blessing upon me; ‘the look of affection will always reward innocence.’
‘After having thus spoken he was about to depart, when I ran towards him, saying:
‘What! leave us so soon, my dear father? Prithee stay till the air grows cooler.’
‘My child,’ answered my affectionate parent, ‘these locks have withered in the hot sun. I have passed many years in toiling for others, and have never shrunk from its beams; and now, when it is partly for my darling girl I toil, the balm and comfort of my life, I cannot feel fatigue, and every drop that rolls down my weather-beaten forehead in such a cause, makes my old heart the lighter.’
I threw myself once more into his arms, and he embraced me fervently, after which he hastened away. As soon as he had gone, I was joined by my mother, who, hearing my voice in the garden, had come to summon me to the morning repast.’
‘So, my dear,’ she remarked, ‘old Mrs. Weston is likely to be better off than ever; instead of being ruined by the burning of her cottage, the Earl of Mansville is going to rebuild it at his own expense, and has made her a handsome present into the bargain.’
At the mention of the earl’s name I blushed, and a sensation filled my bosom which no other name could have excited.