"'Well, what then? I had all the fragrance at a breath,' he said. 'Never let your roses distil their essence to the sun, drop by drop, Mrs. Gray, when you can tear open the hearts and drink their sweet lives in a moment.'
"I remember his answer, word for word, for it came fresh to my mind many times, when I saw you, my dear boy, pining away as it were, under his kindness. It seemed to me as if he were softly parting the leaves of your young heart, and draining its life away!"
"And you really thought my fate like that of your rose, dear aunt?"
The youth uttered these words with a pale cheek and downcast eyes. The good woman's words had impressed him strangely.
"It kept me awake many a long night, Robert."
"But you did not think that Uncle Jacob was at hand? Had he been in your garden, Leicester would not have found an opportunity to kill your pet rose—he might have breathed upon it, nothing more."
The huckster woman looked earnestly into that noble young face; and Robert met her glance with a frank, but somewhat regretful smile.
"And Jacob, my brother, stood between you and this bad man," she said at length, with a degree of emotion that made the folds of her double chin quiver.
"He made me wiser and better—he was my salvation, Aunt Gray."
"God bless my brother—God bless Jacob Strong!" cried the huckster woman, softly clasping her hands, while her eyes were flooded with tears—grateful tears, that hung upon them like dew in the husks of a ripe hazelnut.