Then, upon the little pause that ensued, she looked at the shortening shadows and the skies and said, in her womanly, careful manner, that it was time for her to be in the dairy. At the garden gate, however, he paused.
“And under the influence of what star,” he asked, “is the wondrous plant supposed to bloom?”
She could not guess from his manner whether he spoke in jest or in earnest, but she answered him mischievously, as she turned the key in the lock: “Master Prynne was silent on this point; and nowhere could I find news of it. But we are quite safe, cousin David, for I planted the first cutting myself under your new star.”
He started ever so slightly.
“Did you indeed?” he murmured dreamily.
“But I don’t know its name yet. Tell me, you must have given your new star a name by now—for I think it grows brighter night by night.”
In silence he let his deep gaze rest for a moment upon her, then answered:
“To me it is still nameless, though meaning things beyond words.”
He paused, and went on, still compassing her with his absorbed look. “You and the star came to me together—shall I not call it also,” with a gesture at the flowering bed, “Euphrosine—Star-of-Comfort?”
These words, accompanied by the glance that seemed to give them so earnest a significance, troubled Ellinor strangely. She could find no response. She drew the key from the lock and was moving forward with downcast eyes when he laid his touch lightly upon her arm.